In Which Mike Is Thoroughly Screwed
by Killerturtles
Summary: Or, The Five Times Mike Woke Up In Someone Else's Universe, And The One Time He Didn't, But His Day Still Sucked, Anyway. Basically a place to shove all kind of connected Suits crossovers. R&R! Genres will probably differ per chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: The Five Times Mike Woke Up On The Wrong Side of Someone Else's Universe ... And The One Time He Didn't, But His Day Still Sucked**

**Note: Not putting as crossover, because it crosses over with multiple fandoms each chapter so ... this just seemed to work better.**

**Warning: Not meant to be taken all that seriously. Kinda a crack!fic and my attempt - ****_attempt_**** - at** **humor. There (may) be slashy overtone. It will definitely be implied. However, it's also kinda serious too (as in it does have a plot), if that makes any sort of sense. Like not straight out humor, and the type more depends of what show I'm crossing it over with.**

**Length: about 4200 words**

**Summary: The five times Mike accidentally found himself in the wrong TV universe, and** **the one time he didn't, but it still sucked. Just a crossover with a whole bunch of other TV shows. Genres and ratings will depend on specific category.**

**Universe: White Collar**

**Rating: T (for suggestive themes and language)**

**Genres: Humor, Romance, Mystery**

**Characters: White Collar: Neal, Mozzie, mentions of Peter and Kate. Suits: Mike, Jenny, mentions of Harvey, Louis, and Rachel.**

**Background: (for those of you who don't watch USA)**  
**Suits: Mike, a "puppy" type character is a young man who gets kicked out of college because his no-good friend Trevor convinced him to cheat on a test. Hasn't gone to any law school, and before he got hired by Harvey, he took the bar for other people for money. Trevor deals drugs. Harvey hired Mike even though he knew all this because Mike has an eidetic memory (and is a freakin genius!). Harvey's kind of an ass who doesn't care for anyone but himself. Mostly. Donna's his epic assistant who is totally badass and has blackmail on just about everyone and Louis is the short, chubby balding man who is "competing" with Harvey. Louis is insanely creepy and a jerk to Mike. Mike has a girlfriend, Jenny, and a pretty paralegal who ... it's semi complicated with.**  
**Note: May mention some non-cannon events**

**Seasons: 1**

**White Collar: This is pre-series, so all you need to know is that Neal is a really good, young** **con-artist (like Catch Me If You Can, kinda). He's **_**really**_** smart, but didn't graduate (like Mike) and his "mentor figure" Mozzie, or Moz, is a paranoid anti-government, conspiracy theory type person - my favorite character, in all honesty. Kate is his girlfriend. **  
**Note: Nick Halden is a well-known alias of Neal. Dante Haversdam is Moz's alias.**  
**Seasons: Pre-season**

**Note: Neal may be slightly OOC (Out Of Character) but that's because it's pre-season. And he's younger. And it's humor.**

**Takes Place: Pre-Season - just before Neal's caught - (White Collar) and right after Rachel** **kissed Mike. (Suits)**

**Prompt: Neal gets beaten up by a bunch of thugs after taking an ill-advised job with the** **mob, and somehow ends up in Mike Ross' apartment. (Neal was looking for a place to stay and Moz said he was safe, and Moz keeps tabs on these kind of things.)**

...

This story

Is about sex.

Thought you oughta know.

...

Today, Mike thought to himself as he unlocked his apartment door, today was the reason they created Advil.

Rachel kissed him today. Which, he had to admit, kind of rocked, but he was also dating Jenny who he had wanted to be with for the longest time and ... it was complicated. At least no one was pregnant with someone else's baby, thank God.

That happened to Harvey once, but they were just a Lying Bitch (fully deserving of capitals) with Multiple Personality Disorder. Actually, Mike told himself, it's Dissociative Identity Disorder, and went on to recall the entire article explaining how it was was just a lie and completely the Government's (who were basically to blame for everything) fault that the name changed. It was surprisingly logical, and Mike wanted to meet the author, Mr. Haversdam, to talk about it.

So absorbed was Mike in his thoughts that he didn't realize that there was a naked man in his kitchen. Once he did, Mike responded in the manliest way he knew how; he fainted. Swooned. Blacked out. Lost conscious. Call it whatever brings you the most pleasure sexually.

...

Miraculously, and by some trick of fate, Mike had actually managed to misse the sharp corner of the counter, subconsciously twiste to avoid the knife he left of the by the stove, and dodge the trashcan.

However, like a dick, the ground was big, and hard, and a bit in his way.

...

Mike did not manage to avoid the ground. Most people can't.

...

Mike woke up, looked around, and spent the next ten minutes alternating between having a panic attack and trying to figure out where he was.

He clearly wasn't a work, and that was odd, nor was he in Hong Kong, which was the only other logical explanation. Since a distinct lack of rice, loud drum banging, and gongs quickly dispelled that theory, Mike's mind provided it's next best alternative: He had been kidnapped by aliens, and they were going to make him slow dance.

... Mike admitted he may have a problem. Once having done this, he subsequently ignored the fact as fervently as he could, focusing every aspect of his being into ignoring that he had a problem.

The effort exerted almost made his pass out again, if not for seeing a picture of his grandmother on the dresser.

It all would have come rushing back to him, if he hadn't started fainting again at: Naked Man. And he barely had time to wonder what the fuck he was doing in a bed, before it all left him.

...

The second time Mike woke up, it was around ten. He was late for work. He knew he was late for work. He also knew that if he didn't get put on his (extra, extra, extra, extra) extra suit before Harvey found him, he would most likely be fired.

...

... Or Donna would talk to him. Mike wasn't sure which one he'd prefer.

...

Mike opened his eyes. He looked around. He did it calmly, and without even the slightest hint of a panic attack. He recognized he was (maybe) in what appeared to be his apartment. He also (finally) recognized that he couldn't picture his apartment.

This is when he had his panic attack.

...

He didn't faint, this time. But he didn't recall the Naked Man, either.

...

Once Mike was done with all that realizing, and subsequent panic attacks, he wondered if he should try to go to work.

He decided he didn't give a shit.

It took a few more minutes of cheerful contemplation on the subject of Harvard social rejects and those annoying little gossiping bitches that were just everywhere 'til Mike's eidetic memory kick in.

And he almost fainted again (again). It would have been manly though. 'Cause, you know. Mike's just a badass mother fucker like that and anyone who disagreed could just suck his balls. Yeah, that's right. Mike's actually learning stuff from Harvey.

... then, the sight of the Naked Man in his kitchen caught up with him. Excuse me. Half-Naked Man. Who was currently ... eating waffles? Yes, Mike concluded, peering into his kitchen. He is definitely eating waffles. Without a shirt.

There was one thing that surprised Mike and that one thing was Naked Man's age. The Naked Man looked to be more of a Naked Young Man - around nineteen or twenty. What was he doing in Mike's apartment? And, good golly gee, what in heavens good name was Micheal John Ross going to do about it? (And no, the answer really _wasn't_ something out of a bad porno.)

He had to call the Harvey. And let him know he would be late. Then, maybe, if he had time, the police. (Mike recognized that his priorities were a bit skewered. He also recognized he didn't care.)

There was a gaping hole in his plan and it was this: his phone was not in his pocket, and neither was his wallet, business cards, or his ID. Even the picture he had of Harvey (which was, admittedly, a little stalkerish. Mike felt good admitting stuff like that because he had read somewhere once that denial and repression were bad for your mental psych; and what with his job working Harvey and being Louis' bitch, his psych needed all the help it could get.), even this, was mysteriously gone.

Mike felt violated. He didn't, however, have time to come to terms with this feeling before the stranger finally turned away from the kitchen counter, and caught sight of him. "Oh, good! You're awake! I was hoping you weren't hurt or anything, but I don't know much of swooning. Kate would know what to do, if she weren't working with the-"

"N-no' t' swoon. Man-faint." Mike mumbled, still a little bleary. Then he paused. "Fuck." Mike then focused on _not_ banging his head against a wall for interrupting while Naked Man (Mike had yet to come up with a better name, despite the inaccuracy of the whole situation) was informing him of a Major Plot Point.

"Are you okay? You were out all night." Fuck you too, Mike silently tells the smirking Naked Man. He doesn't say it aloud, because he is simply above doing petty little thing like that (and is slightly scared of Naked Man actually taking him up on that.)

Instead, he simply grumbled out an "'M fine." and sat up. Just to prove his it. And promptly lay back down as the blood rushed to his head dizzyingly. Mike's vision had gone black and he thought he might faint again, for a moment; thankfully, he didn't, as even Mike's dignity couldn't take fainting twice in front of a stranger. He settled for just collapsing angrily into the bed.

"You're sure? Damn. I wish Kate were here."

"W-who?" The better question should have been: What are you doing here? Or, Where's my phone? And, always a classic, Where's your shirt, and why weren't you wearing any pants when I came home from work?

The stranger hesitates, looking suspicious. "She's my girlfriend."

Mike rubs his head. He closed his eyes and tried to pretend that this was all a dream - correction, nightmare - even though that never actually worked. He tried praying, even though that never actually worked either. Finally, he tried arguing logic with the universe - even though this has a particularly bad track record for working even worse than any other meat hod, and in fact, would only ever serve to make the situation worse.

The universe wasn't a logical place. It didn't like it when people pretended it was. But, seriously, wasn't being in the same general area as Louis for eight hours, six day a week torture enough for anything Mike had done? Wasn't being subjected to Kyle's bad insults, and ugly face every single day enough? Can't he ever catch just one goddamn break?

After all of this completely and utterly failed to comply with even the slightest hint of working, when he reopened his eyes, the young man was back, and with more waffles. "Here. I felt kind of bad ... and I was a little worried I killed you. And Mozzie likes you. Now," with an elegant flourish, the young man revealed the plate, "Your breakfast." And then stood there, smirking at him.

Despite it being Mike's apartment, and Naked Man being shirtless, Naked Man seemed to be in a perpetual state of smirking at him.

"Mozzie?" It's amazing how little his brain is working right now.

All he gets is some ramblings on the government, and an even wider smirk.

"Who are you?"

There is a long pause. A really long-but-not-long-enough-to-be-awkward pause, in which the man dodges the question by asking if he wants syrup or powdered sugar or what on his waffles.

"What's your name?" Mike's voice was shaky and nervous.

The next pause is even longer, and more awkward, mostly because Naked Man was just staring into his soul with this deep look in his amazingly clear eyes, and Mike is struck with just how gay this is, and just how awkward it would be if Harvey showed up.

Shit. Harvey. Work. Mike was once again reminded of his job. Frankly, he was surprised he had been allowed to forget about it for this long without serious repercussion.

"Nick. Nick Halden."

Okay, what? Right, name. Naked Man. Mike reluctantly left the safe land of worrying about work and turned back to the actual real - as in, not Harvey inspired - life situation.

"What the hell were you doing in my apartment? And why were you naked?" Indignant, Mike knew, was a good emotion for him at this time. Any deeper emotion had the tendency to just make him want to rock back and forth humming.

"Hey! I was wearing boxers!"

Mike had no idea what to even _think_ about that.

"Michael -"

"Mike." He corrected Naked Man automatically. (Yes, he had told Mike his name. But it was too late, and now, Mike would forever refer to him as Naked Man.)

"Sorry. Your ID says Michael Ross, so I wasn't sure whether you went by a nickname or not."

Mike had honestly no idea what to think about that, either. "My-my ID?" Mike forced out, deciding to stick with indignant. He crossed his arms for emphasis. He even glared. Unfortunately, doing all this while laying down didn't seem to be having much of an effect on Naked Man, who was just looking at him and grinning with one charming, hell of a smile, and handing him the plate of waffles, covered in both powdered sugar and syrup.

"Thanks." Mike says. And really means it. For about five seconds before he realised he was thanking the man who broke into his apartment (mostly) naked and is standing in front of him shirtless (and damn if Mike wasn't jealous of those abs) after taking the contents of his pockets.

Neal is about to say something when his phone rings. "You've reached Ca-Halden. Nick Halden."

"Look-"

Neal looks impatient as his mystery caller interrupts. "Moz! Relax! I almost killed Mike! And I know how much you like him, so I stayed to make sure he was okay. Oh, and I got shot," he adds, as a sort of an afterthought.

From Neal's wince, "Moz" was clearly Not Happy. Mike had plenty of experience with people who were Not Happy calling him; mostly, it was just Harvey, because he was late, again, or this Dean guy who kept trying to sell him nipple cream for hairless cats. He had called like nine or ten times in the last twenty-four hours, and while Mike wasn't quite sure why he'd started, he was beyond grateful that he stopped; the whole thing had kind of freaked the shit out of him.

He wandered into the next room and Mike could only catch a few words of his conversation; something about a mob, and this dead guy and he kept asking about money. Was here to rob him? But that didn't explain why he stayed ... unless he wanted something else? Shit. This probably had something to with Trevor. Damnit, wasn't he supposed to be in Montana? Or something? Or somewhere? You know, as in, not in Mike's life, not near Mike, and in no position to fuck Mike's life up anymore? Seriously. What the hell. Not cool. Fucking not cool.

Mike gently moved the covers over head, and he closed his eyes. It didn't work any better than it had the last time, but Mike still pinched himself to be sure.

Then, he began inching his way towards his dresser; cautiously watching Neal, making sure he couldn't see him, and wouldn't be returning anytime soon. Oh, God. Mike was shaking. Literally shaking. What if this man was here to kill him? No, that's ... probably the worst guess he'd ever made. _Relax_, Mike. Breath. Okay.

He probably just wants him for some job. Or drugs? Or Trevor? Damnit, what did he want? Shit, what if he was a mobster? Harvey would think he was quitting. Harvey would fire him. Crap. Harvey. They were going to go over those Briefs - there were always Briefs to go over, though. Maybe Harvey would make Kyle do them for once.

Mike hand moves opens the drawer, hyper aware of the other man in his kitchen; he knows he's over-analyzing the situation, but he also knows this guy isn't going to give him any straight answers. He hears Neal hang up the phone, and he steps out of the bed, ignoring the slight pain in his head as he pulls a baseball bat. (It was Trevor's, just in case).

"Don't move."

Neal looks mostly surprised but slightly nervous. Which was surprisingly close to what Mike was going for. But there is this flicking in his eyes, and his body is tensing. Which makes Mike worried. He proceeds anyway.

"Who the hell is this 'Moz' guy you keep mentioning?"

"Mr. Harversdam? Short guy, balding, wears a toupee, ringing any bells?"

"I read an article he wrote ... other than that, I've never heard of him. Is he be a "friend" of Trevor's?"

"Who?"

This was going nowhere, Mike realised. It was going around in circles and then all the way back to nowhere land.

Mike tightened his grip on the baseball bat. It felt awkward and unfamiliar in his hand - probably 'cause he never played many sports - and he wondered what he was doing. But he overheard Neal talking about the mob, on his phone call with 'Moz' and that was never a good thing. And yes, Mike did know that from experience.

"Never mind. Listen, what does the mob want with me?"

"How did you-"

A sharp knock comes from the door and both Neal and Mike pause. Neal's eyes dart around and, as Mike's attention is drawn to the incessant pounding on the door, he launches his body at Mike. The two of them cater into the wall, bumble into the dresser, the corner digging sharply into Mike's back, and stumble to the ground.

The bat - which had slipped from out of Mike's hand during Neal's tackle - had been gotten flung half way across the room, onto the bed (courtesy of Neal's left foot. His favorite foot. His _goddamn_ favorite foot.). Mike noticed it, and lunged for it, and Neal lunged for Mike. Neal knocked bat sideways with his foot and pinned Mike up against the headboard with his elbow and arm. "Awh!" Mike made a strangled groan of pain.

Meanwhile, Harvey (who else could it be?) who had been trying to open the door (Harvey had never been more grateful for Mike's crappy apartment. The door was much easier to break that way.) was speechless.

The sight that had met his eyes upon both physically and literally breaking into his associates apartment was one of the strangest things he had ever seen, and even Donna couldn't have seen coming.

A shirtless man was straddling Mike, pinning him to his bed while Mike made all these weird groaning noises and writhing beneath him. I mean, he knew Mike wasn't really a virgin but he hadn't expected _this_! Harvey Spector was speechless, and it was all the fault of one Michael Ross. He recovered quickly, because he's Harvey, and kinda badass like that. "Mike! You have a _girlfriend_! Not that I care, because I _don't_, but really!"

Both men froze. And tried to speak at same time. "It's his fault-"

"He jumped-"

"- A baseball bat -"

"Fucking waffles!"

" - who _are_ you -"

"Okay!" Harvey interrupted. "Okay! Enough! You two are going to -" And then Harvey saw the bat, Mozzie showed up, all hell broke loose and everything went to shit. Though, not necessarily in that order.

...

Harvey dove for the bat, while Mike did his best to prevent Neal from jumping on Harvey. Everything seemed to be (finally!) going swimmingly for Mike, even though he was hugging a half naked man that potentially wanted to kill-slash-kidnap him, though what Harvey was even doing at his apartment, he had no idea. That could possibly be considered creepy, but nonsense like that didn't scare Mike Ross away.

It just scared him, period. Harvey scared him. Period.

Meanwhile, while Mike was daydreaming, Neal had gotten free and dashed elegantly for the door. Harvey had picked up the bat and used his previously unknown latent ninja skills, while Neal thanked Moz for those damn fencing lesson he made him take on that one job that one time. It was oddly like some sort of weird, violent, interpretive Russian dance.

Mainly, though, it was Harvey just sort of swinging the bat around, while Neal was attempting to avoid being hit. Now, Harvey is not a violent person. Neal was not a violent person. Yet, here they were, engaged in a duel of epic proportions. At least they were, until Harvey got lucky. But not in a sexual way. Despite the fact that this entire story is basically a extended sexual innuendo and mainly just an excuse for Neal to have his shirt off. And get beaten up by Harvey. Hot.

… Harvey just slammed his bat into Neal's stomach. Wow. Neal could not get over that. Harvey had just hit him with a baseball bat. Hard. A lucky shot, Neal consoled himself. A lucky shot that hurt like hell, but still. A lucky shot. Harvey vaguely wondered if there was anything to that "never hit a man while he's down" theory, for a moment, before deciding he didn't really give a shit, and slammed the baseball bat into Neal's arm.

Quick reflexes saved Neal from a third hit, but if he didn't get a weapon or advantage of some sort, he was screwed.

Harvey swung at Neal, again, knowing that the young man really couldn't do much. Even if he did have crazy cat burglar like reflexes. Shit. Was he robbing Mike?

Neal dodged Harvey's hit.

Mike said he was with the mob. Harvey connected with the dresser.

Neal thanked his lucky stars, or whatever.

Harvey felt a little bad for the kid, but you deserve what you get if you're stupid enough to get roped into working for the mob.

Neal had an idea. A stupid, dangerous, temporary, genius idea.

But Harvey had noticed the attentive flickering in his eyes, and the confident way he held himself. There was no way this job for the mob was it. The kid, this "Nick" who was attacking Mike was getting something out of this. But what? Money? It made sense, but he honestly didn't think that was it. There was something more.

Neal leaped across the bed (again). He seamed to be doing a lot of this. Maybe he was sexually attracted to beds? But before Neal could delve any deeper into his potential identity crisis, he landed, more or less, on Mike.

Harvey realized what he was doing too late; it was like one of the old movies. The one where it all went in slow motion, and there was all the dramatic screaming and looks of abject horror and then something really bad happened, but turned out not really being all that bad. Except without the slow motion bit, and the screaming bit, and bad-things-that-happen-but-don't bit.

For the second time today, Mike felt way too close to "Nick". Mike hated being a human shield. He was (once!) a badass drug dealer. He broke the effing law! Why did everyone want to abuse him mentally and physically?

Harvey tried telling himself that he didn't care. But then his inner Mike (as if you're in any position to judge him) reminded him that Louis didn't like him, and Kyle was too stupid to take Mike's job. Harvey conceded; Operation Consciously Save Mike was Still On and all systems Were A Go.

Meanwhile, Neal was busy considering his options. They think he's with the mob. Why would they think that? He wasn't a con artist for nothing and … "Everyone stop right now, or I kill the ... kid." Neal was conveniently ignoring the fact that he was the youngest person here.

"With what? Your bare hands?" Harvey sounded skeptical.

"No," Neal paused slowly, and thought fast. "I'm going to ... have forced sexual contact with him."

Harvey just stared at him, very badass-ly. Mike gives a kind of squeak of fear.

Harvey clearly doesn't believe him. Oh, well. It was a bad idea in the first place. And it did stop the creepy ass dude who he _really_ hoped wasn't Mike's boyfriend (for _Mozzie's_ sake) - he worked for the _government_ - from wailing on him with a baseball bat. Totally unnecessarily.

"You're bluffing." And here we thought Neal could play poker. Must have been Harvey's badass staring.

"I wouldn't do that if you value your boyfriend's viginity."

Harvey paused at the conviction and lack of emotion in the young man's face. It was actually a little scary, how different this man was acting. If this_was _an act, it was a damned good one. However, before he or anyone could do or a say a single thing, Mike spoke.

"Hey! I'm not actually a virgin, you know!" and then, as an afterthought, "Harvey's not my boyfriend either."

"Shut up, Mike."

"Fine." And Mike went back to sulking quietly and abusing Trevor in his head.

Harvey turned to Neal. "What do you _want_?"

"I just want to leave." Neal emphasized the last word. He had no idea if this would work. Tough guy persona's weren't his thing. Kate or Keller would be so much better; they always told him that thieving wasn't a gentleman's game anymore. You had to be tough, and you had to be brutal. Or, at least, Keller did. All the time. And every time, Neal would argue the benefits of no guns, the benefits of not killing, benefits of no hurting, no _forced sexual contact_. Keller said he just didn't have the guts, and Neal wouldn't deny it.

Later, he'd talk to Kate, and she'd say that maybe going in with a gun wasn't the worst idea. They wouldn't have to kill anybody. And, because it was Kate and she had given up so much to be with him, he'd almost agree.

And each time they held this conversation, Neal got a little closer to agreeing, a little closer to making the leap from con to murderer.

So, of course, it's him who's stuck here, threatening another man's virginity, another man's life so blatantly – something he's never done before – and wondering if Keller would have killed him. If _Kate_ would have killed him. And Mike's trembling against him, and all Neal can think about is how worried he is about Harvey not believing him, or Harvey really not caring, or Mike escaping, or getting away, or everything that could go wrong.

"You tell me what you want with Mike, you're free to go." Goddamn, why couldn't this dick just let a dead dog get raped and die? And of course, Neal couldn't explain what he wanted with Mike, because he did _technically_ work for the mob (which really, was a mistake anyone could make) and he was pretending that he worked for a different mob ... he didn't even know Mike. All he knew was that he needed somewhere to hide, Mozzie liked him, and his neighbors said he was never home. "No. You let me leave, safely, Mike remains a virgin, and I don't have to call my partner in here."

And that was all Mike could take. "I'M NOT A FUCKING VIRGIN!"

Mozzie chose this moment to enter.

...

Mozzie never liked Kate. Fact. (And not a government inspired fact, or a government lie, parading as a fact so that the public would never know what really went on behind the dark curtain of corporate corruption.) No, Mozzie disliking Kate was a well known _truth _- a word the government didn't even know the meaning of.

I mean, she was okay. Just not ... you know. Someone he actually liked. Just like he was always the quirky friend, Kate was the awkward girlfriend. (At least Mozzie thought so. Keller didn't seem to agree, but they rarely agreed on anything anymore. Not since Neal.)

"Come in to my web, said the Spider to the Fly." And, in this scenario, Mozzie is the proverbial spider, slowly spinning a deep dark wed, filled with conspiracies, and secrecy. But truthfully, people couldn't even begin to comprehend how connected Mozzie is. And when Mozzie heard Neal (the skinny little kid with the silver tongue) was shot, he was actually worried. But Mozzie was a good guy. A good bad guy. Mostly a bad guy. That did bad things. But was good.

Yes, he was a criminal; a criminal with absolutely no qualms or regrets or doubts. But he didn't kill people. Nah, he just robbed them blind. But hey, better broke the dead, right? And you could assimilate yourself with a whole 'nother culture - including first hand experience being homeless.

Now - wait for it - people honestly were surprised at how well connected Mozzie was. In fact - wait for it - this oversight lead to him randomly popping up in situations. However - keep waiting for it, it'll knock your socks off - this had a downside; People who just weren't as smart or connected as him tended to be surprised when he arrived, and surprised criminals shot at people. Fact. (Again, not a Government "fact", but an actual Fact. One the Mozzie had gained through first hand experience, unfortunately. Occupational hazard.

But - just keep waiting for it, it's chugging right along - either due to a combination of luck and paranoia, Mozzie had yet to die. He had gotten shot, as mentioned above. A surprising lot for the man behind the curtain, but Big Brother is always watching. Nowhere is safe. (Besides Mozzie certified safe houses.) Mozzie was good at what he did - almost there - he knew people, he knew information, and he delivered.

So - here's the good bit - it came as an unsurprising surprise to everyone that Mozzie had met Mike. Mentored him, even. Mozzie was a real good Samaritan, luring young boys off to become criminal masterminds. (See, wasn't that worth it? Wasn't that amazing? Didn't it make all your dreams come true? Didn't it make you want to punch the government into shape? Didn't it? Didn't it? DIDN'T IT?)

But wait! There's more! Share and enjoy!

Mozzie was on his way to Mike's apartment, to make sure Neal hadn't killed him, ironic as that sentiment was.

...

And, as Mozzie burst through the door, furious and determined to save Mike, he couldn't help but stop and stare. And Mozzie never stopped and stared because Mozzie knew all.

Mike was screaming something about being a virgin while this tall, corporate - _corporate! _- man was standing in Mike's doorway, holding a bat, and Neal and Mike were pinned together against the wall at a very uncomfortable angle. Wait ... Mozzie knew what was going on here ... Neal was going to have sex with Mike and Mike's scary boyfriend, in a fit a jealousy decided to kill them both! Mozzie realized he may have to do some things he was okay with doing. Once that was settled, he charged Harvey.

And then stopped, and thought. That was kind of his specialty. He came to the conclusion that he had misread the facts, and Neal and Mike were not having sex.

He thought some more. This is what he came up with:

One: he had no idea why Mike was in front of Neal or who the man with the bat was. Two: Neal would never cheat on Kate. Three: Mike was clearly a virgin. Four: Mike would not cheat on corporate douche. Still. Now, after taking a few more deep breaths, Mozzie relaxed on his theories of government conspiracy and sex, and focused on a more likely reason. Like, why a bat? What the hell happened here? Who was bat-man? (And yes, the irony had struck him too. He just had better sense than to give into Them.) What did he _want_?

Neal looked up. "Moz!" Neal's sheepish grin matched the cheerful cry.

Mike looked at him, voice filled with confusion. "Melvin?"

Harvey just looked at him confused. It was not a good look on him.

But clearly, Mike and mystery dude "Nick" knew this man; and Harvey _hated_ not knowing things.

Now, Moz looked sheepish. Neal looked like he was having gas pains. God, what an awful name. (And if your name is Melvin, I'm sorry. It is a godawful name, and I hope you're aware changing it is legal possible. This _is_ hope.) "Admittedly," Mozzie tried justifying himself to Neal, "it wasn't my best alias."

Neal snorted. Mike looked crestfallen. "Melvin's not your name?"

"You seriously believed me kid? I taught you arts of the con, and how to lie, and you thought my actual name was Melvin? I don't leave a trace. Never been part of the system. The government can't find me."

This seemed to appease Mike's worry, while Harvey just rolled his eyes, smiling at his associate's foolish naivety, before catching himself, and realizing just what he was doing. Mike isn't endearing. Harvey didn't care about him. Lies. All lies.

Mozzie was worried, again, about the man in the suit. It was a SUIT.

"Moz! Thank God you're here! They think I'm part of the mob." Neal, of course, had to interrupt his lovely reunion with Mike. Mozzie was about to respond, until, like the dick that he was, Harvey interrupted.

"You mean you aren't?" Mike looked confused, and Neal realized his had just blown his cover. Fuck. Again. (But not Mike. He was a virgin and rape was not nice.)

"_Technically_, he is-" Of course, Mozzie was helpful like that.

"- technically, what do you mean technically -" Specifics. Mike needed specifics.

"Goddamn it, Mike!" Harvey was - shocker - _pissed_.

"Neal, what the hell is going on?" Mozzie was confused.

Neal was rapidly getting impatient with the whole thing. "- it's a long story, but -"

"Harvey, what are you doing? He-"

"- what -"

"- how -"

"Mob-"

"Admitted it!"

"I was on the run and -"

"-seriously, why are you here -"

"- how do you 'mistakenly' get a job for the mob?"

" - more than one team mem-"

"- did you find me -"

"SUIT!"

"You know each other?"

"- what happened to you, Mike -"

"SUIT!"

Soon, their cacophony of voices drowned out all other sound. Chaos was imminent. Inevitable, ongoing. Loud.

Until Peter Burke, FBI, burst through the door.

...

"FBI! Freeze! John Michaels, you're under arrest for forgery, counterfei ... Caffrey?"

There was absolute silence in the room for just about the first time since Neal threatened to sexually assault Mike. Neal contemplated his options, Mozzie slipped away into the shadows, as per usual, while Harvey may or may not have blushed for the second time that day; as usual, Mike had no way out.

This deadly still silence that followed Peter's announcement continued; Peter wondered what the hell was happening here, and honestly, he wasn't the first. The handcuffs clanked together, dangling from Peter's hand. Why him?

Neal broke the silence (someone had to.). "Handcuffs. Kinky." As if everything wasn't awkward enough, what with him and Mike still up against the wall; also, as became immediately apparent, Neal was still shirtless. _What the hell was Neal up to now?_ Peter wondered wearily. _And do I_ really _want to know? _

And with that thought in mind, Peter ran across the room for Neal, Mike was shoved rudely onto the bed (a-fucking-gain), Harvey started swinging the baseball bat around, hoping to discourage anyone from coming near him (it worked), and Mozzie scuttled out the door, unnoticed but not before yelling out that, "The corporate Suit is with the mob!" (he had to protect his investments. Namely, Neal.) It was actually semi believable, if you thought about it; or rather, if you didn't think about it, and just looked at the (admittedly very strange) scene.

Peter hesitated, Harvey dropped the bat, and Neal jumped out the window.

"Shit." Peter. Pause. And then, "You are under arrest, put your hands behind your back." And, despite both Mike and Harvey's continued protests, Peter went ahead and arrested the both of them. (Later, at the police station, they realized that they had nothing to hold Mike on, which was ironic enough. Moz spent ten minutes laughing hysterically when he heard the news; it confirmed with his view of Government intelligence. Harvey happened to match a description of another "mobster" and was held for the next twenty-four hours before Donna could swoop in and save his ass again.) No actually had sex, disappointingly.

Tbc ...

**A/N: If you liked this 'verse', or would like to hear how Donna got Harvey out of jail, what happened with the mob, or really, any sort of continuation of this fic, PM me, or leave a review. Next up: Heroes. Hiro meets Mike. And they step on a few butterflies. Alternate Mikes #5, #23, and #6 included! Don't know what I'm talking about? Don't worry! Neither do I!**

**Now, remember: Reviews make me happy. When I am happy, I do nice things, like bake my friends cookies (You could even review just for the sake of me!) and get in shape. When I get in shape, I'm healthy. When I'm healthy, I live longer. When I live longer, I help more people. When I help more people, they work on self improvement. When they work on self improvement, I get the credit. Give me credit for saving the world, and review this odd piece of shit. Smiles, anyone?**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: FIRST- I AM CRAZY SORRY IT TOOK ME FOREVER TO POST. My computer doesn't have the Word, so I have to use this other one, and then bad things happened to it. **

**So, this one is Heroes, kind of. Peter - a nurse, "hero complex", absorbs other people's abilities or powers / empath - is the main character. Of this story. Sort of. It's 2/3s told from his point of view, but has lots of Mike in it. **

**So, my idea was that since the show Heroes has so many alternate futures, it'll be like the three times Peter touched Mike's life, and the one time everything turned out the way it was suppose to: New York didn't explode, the population didn't get wiped out by the Shanti Virus, normal people don't have "abilities", and Nathan is still a dick. (I don't really like Nathan. Can you tell?)**

**Warnings: Slight gore. Mentions of gay sex, and death. Not sad, though. IMPORTANT: THERE **_**MAY**_** BE VERY ODD PAIRINGS AND OTHER WEIRD ASS SHIT GOING DOWN. There will also be a plot. It will meander along, painstakingly slowly, and seem pretty pointless, but it'll be there. **

**Rating: T, for safety, violence, and complex themes**

**Length: About 3200 **

**Genre: Humor (definitely), Supernatural (no shit, Sherlock. (Swear to God, that is like my favorite saying!)) Romance ... wait and see the mind-scaring idea's I have planned for you! Maybe. And, some Tragedy, though it's probably not what you think. **

**Suits: (See Chapter One, retards! Okay, that was mean and uncalled for and politically incorrect. I'm sorry.)**  
**Season: Pre-season, AU, and the pilot episode**

**Heroes: Too many characters, too many plots, and too much complications to explain the show. However, I recommend that you go see it. Go on, now. (SPOILER - Nathan becomes a good brother for about two seasons. Then, he's back to being a dick. And he disowns Peter. Can you tell I don't like him? Plus, his face is like a fucking RECTANGLE). **

**First season Peter: Hero-worships Nathan (his big brother). FUTURE = NY going Nuclear. **

**Second season Peter: Loses his memory, works with a group of Irish thieves for a while, madly in love with Caitlin. FUTURE = Shanti Virus kills 97% of world (and Caitlin is trapped / disappears into this future. No one really knows what happened to her.)**

**Third Season Peter: Complicated. He tries to kill his dad, goes against Nathan, loses power. FUTURE = special people on the run**

**Season: Spoilers up to season three, uses the "alternate futures" shown in seasons one, two, and three. **  
**IGNORES ALL GRAPHIC NOVELS!**

**Prompt: When Peter time travels, to each future, he checks on an old friend: Mike Ross. Then, Peter shows Mike Ross the other Mike Ross. (This may or may not end up happening. I'm kind of one for just rolling with the punches. (I love sayings. Can you tell?) My explanation for why he did so crappy on the Mock Trial. Actually, not, because that happened way before my planned timeline. Fail. (Or, that's the excuse I'm giving out for writing such a weird ass random fic.) **

…

This story is _not_ about sex.

But is an awful lot of it.

...

Mike had wanted to take a day - at fucking _least_! - off, after the whole Mob-Home-Invasion-Slash-Harvey-Getting-Arrested-Thingy. (Mike didn't have a name for it. It was too mind scaring, and Mike Didn't Think About It at every opportunity.

Harvey, however, would never give him a day; or, that is, if Harvey busy being arrested, there was no way he'd give Mike the time off. Fortunately, (Mike never thought he'd say this ...) But, fortunately, Harvey _was_ in jail, Mike wasn't, it was a Monday and Jessica had already okayed the time off.

Life was good.

And Mike was already planning on kicking back, relaxing, and maybe inviting Jenny over for sex later. And whatever happens, at least Mike could remain confident and comfortable in knowing that at least it wouldn't - couldn't - get any weirder than yesterday.

I think we can all agree that whoever thinks anything along the lines is literally down on his hands and knees _begging_ for it.

* * *

The first time Peter Petrelli met Michael Ross, he was only fourteen, and sulking because his Dad had found him watching porn instead of doing his economics homework. And after that, his dad had started insisting he get a tutor. ("Why can't you just pay attention in class, Peter?" "You're acting like I don't try!" "Well, when I come home to you watching ... this … what am I supposed to think?" "That I'm a normal teenage boy, maybe?")

That argument had gone on, at top volume, for almost a continuous hour, before his dad kindly informed Peter that he would stay after school on Friday afternoons ("Friday! Friday!" Peter had sputtered, to no avail.) with a tutor. And Peter would pay him with his own money - which was utterly ridiculous, and totally unfair; but that was that and there was nothing to do about, and so here Peter was, cursing the world, his dad, the world, and his dad standing in the rain on a windy Friday afternoon without an umbrella.

He was waiting for a minute or two when this skinny looking midget walked up to him, shivering slightly. He was an extreme contrast to Peter, who was shiving violently, and soaking wet. Anyway, the midget – no, Peter corrected himself. It wasn't a midget. It was just a very short, young kid. Midget is politically incorrect. (And with _his_ brother, his dad, his mother ... his whole damn family, actually, he had to keep up with these things.)

"Are you Peter Petrelli?" The midget – sorry, short kid – spoke. Peter nodded. "I'm Mike Ross." Mike, the now identified short kid (and politically incorrect midget) stuck out a pudgy little hand.

This was Mike Ross? Christ, he was young! Like nine or ten or something!

"So, twenty an hour, correct?" Mike confirmed the price, and then beamed inwardly. Trevor had taught him how to do that; otherwise, people would just rip you off, and the government would steal your soul.

Peter was, alternatively, feeling slightly indignant. It's not like Peter was stupid or anything. He just didn't pay much attention in class - but he got mostly As with only two or three Bs and the rare C.

However, that year, the one with Mike Ross' tutoring, was the only year Peter managed to get solid As; and they had kind of became friends before Mike fell off the face of the planet, Dad flipped shit and Ma insisted they move. It was weird, but the young genius who always wanted to be a lawyer and only saw the best in people stuck with him.

After that odd year they never really talked, instead becoming "facebook friends"; as in, they would take turns stalking each other, and called each other on Christmas and New Years.

And then, one day, Peter traveled into the future, and he met Mike. Or, Mike 2.0, as he liked to call him. Peter doesn't know how Mike's life ended up so different each time he changed the future, but it did. And now, seeing what Mike was up to had become a sort of a game of his.

A game that brought him no end of enjoyment, as long as everything got fixed in the end.

* * *

The first time Peter time traveled into the future, _really _time traveled_,_ was in a dream. Back when life was simple, skies were partially cloudy with a slight chance of rain and highs in the mid 70s, and all he had to worry about was an exploding man and a indestructible cheerleader from Odessa. Back while he was in a coma. For two weeks.

(Yes folks, I am talking about the exploding man sequence. Don't know what the exploding man sequence is? Long and short = Peter explodes. Or rather, Peter become a human nuc, and goes nuclear on New York. Or, at least, dreams he will. And no, this didn't break any fourth walls. Shut up!)

It sucked. And that was all Peter could honestly say. It sucked. It sucked, it sucked, it sucked.

Have you ever exploded repetitively?

No? I don't advise it. Neither does Peter. It's damn painful. And it does get a tad bit dull, after exploding for the thirteenth time, over and over again for about a week.

Especially because something stupid like exploding. (And by stupid, I mean _stupid_.)

So, anyhoo, Peter was getting awful tired of exploding, but there didn't seem much to do about it. (Who the hell likes exploding? You show me someone who likes to _explode - _like a nuclear bomb, explode_ - _and I'll show you what's wrong with the world. Hint - it's the people who want to explode.)

Eventually, all this exploding led to Peter doing some float-y, out of bod-y experience. Where he wasn't exploding, for some bizarre reason. Thinking about why he'd suddenly stopped exploding made his head hurt, and he'd had quote enough of that, thank you very much.

So. Here he was. Floating along. Just ... yeah. Doin' nothing. _Hey_! Peter thought with sudden insight._ I'll go check on Mike!_

And this was possibly the strangest idea he had ever discovered in his brain, and he could read minds. (Though, he didn't seem to be able to use any of his powers besides the Exploding Man power. Which, kind of sucked. Hasn't he already mentioned that? A lot seemed to be sucking, in this weird dream New York place he was stuck in.) But wait, there's more! He appeared to be flying. Badly. It was more of a float, but floating implies flying, or levitating. _But that was just part of the dream sequence. Probably._ Peter reasoned. _Aw, fuck. Hope I don't start exploding again. _

(He does, but we'll get to that later.)

Peter did a few more swoops, and a few more neat float-yness flier tricks, before catching sight of Mike, in a law office at Pearson Hardman. (That was quick. Weird.)

And he noticed a few more things that were sucking; namely, Mike, off his brother.

(Peter fell out of the sky in shock, fainted, and started exploding some more. Eventually, he regained control, though he used the word control very loosely. However, Peter didn't know if he'd ever be able to unsee that image. Ever. In fact, he was certain he was going to be scarred for life. But could you blame him?)

He went out looking for Mike again, now that he wasn't exploding, but much more carefully. This time, Mike was working at a club. As a drag queen / stripper. Peter didn't actually recognize him, until after Mike said hello. Ironically enough, Mike's stripper name was Rachel and he did the "smart is sexy" routine. (... Not questioning how Peter figured that out will save you millions of shrinks and intensive therapy.)

"Peter! This is just too funny!" He sounded nothing like Mike. It was this surreal experience, and Peter had no idea what to make of it. (Turns out he really could pull off drag. He had soft features, after all.)

(He would later find that Mike's grandma had died, instead of his parents that night. And for some reason, it turned him into a flamboyantly gay drag queen. Stranger things, huh? Actually, no. It didn't get much weirder than this.)

And dream-Peter and Mike 2.0 got to know each other, getting drunk and having a good time. Real-Peter was stuck in Comma Land. Without his drag queen pal. Who gave his brother blow jobs every Wednesdays, apparently.

(Peter quite possibly fainted. Again. He really needed to stop thinking about that. Not that it was a common feature in his thoughts. Or his dreams. Or, you know, Mike's thoughts and dreams. Which really, Peter tried to avoid reading - but it was like the porn all over again.)

Then Peter exploded once more for good measure, woke up, and saved the world. (In a manner of speaking.)

* * *

Mike #1 was the worst, even if Mike #2.0 – thusly named after Peter's favorite number – scarred him beyond anything else. But more on that later.

* * *

The second time Peter time traveled, he did actually time travel. And he met Mike. But he didn't think it really counted, because he didn't remember a single damn thing at the time. And he could probably owe that to the Haitian. Who, apparently, _could _talk. But more on that later.

* * *

**About a year and some memory losses later, in Future #2:**

Peter was in the process of Freaking The Hell Out - he just fucking time traveled a year into the future, where New York was evacuated - when men grabbed him, and separated him from Caitlin. (His Currant Love, of which would Soon Be Forgotten, and he will eventually Pretend She Never Existed.)

First, there had been the situation of waking up shitless and chained inside a cargo hold in Ireland, then his memory going AWOL, and now he's fucking _time traveling_?

Damn it. Caitlin. He had to get to her somehow ... and with that thought in mind, Peter tried to ignite his lightening or whatever, only to find he couldn't. That ... bites.

Nothing interesting happened; he was taken into this place ... found out the entire world was dying ... saw Caitlin ... met his Ma ... blah did-di-dah. Moving on. More important plot points over here.

Actually.

Please redirect your attention to "met his Ma" and continue onto the next important plot point right over on your left, after this quick detour:

See, after Peter talks to his mom - who he doesn't recognize because he lost his fucking memory, in case you've forgotten – and she introduces him to family lawyer to get him out of trouble. (His mom doesn't care about Caitlin. Shocker. Angela's kind of a bitch, though.)

So, anyhoo, his mom sets him up with this big shot lawyer (Hint: Plot point I was talking about. Double hint: it's a biggie), who gets him out. Peter decides he doesn't like him.

The lawyer is young, and amazing; he was made a partner at the firm.

But, he's kind of an ass.

(He didn't care about Caitlin either. Why does no one care about Caitlin? Peter figured it was some sort of phenomenon. Maybe that's why he kind of stopped caring as well.)

And, as already stated, douche-y lawyer got Peter off the hook.

(He really was going to look for Caitlin, really, he was, but Adam Monroe got in the way, and then he understood, and his memories may have sort of made a reappearance. But more on that later. Let's focus on that lawyer. He's a plot point, so pay attention. Actually, he is the plot, but the game is afoot and I fear I've said too much.)

The lawyer focused on getting Peter free was really good. Even though you have already been introduced to this fact, it bears repeating. He wasn't just good, he was a fucking _miracle_ worker.

He was also a corporate sell out.

And a dick.

Peter's lawyer lived for one night stands, bent the law like hell, and won. Over and over again, this selfish, douche bag, asshole of a guy won cases. Peter hated him, until he met Adam Monroe, and met Adam and started regenerating again. And, as a by-product of regenerating, he started remembering. And then he learned some stuff, talked to Mike, chatted with Harvey, and maybe kissed Jenny. But we do have this arrangement where we are going to go over that later.

For now, Peter was stuck with The Lawyer. The Lawyer Who Should Die A Thousand Painful Deaths, Or At Least Leave Peter Alone. (Peter didn't remember, yet.)

"You look pathetic." Those were the first words of the lawyers (whose name Peter could not remember for the life of him) mouth.

Peter first words were, "Where's Caitlin?"

The lawyers smirk was calculating. "Who's that?"

"M-my girlfriend." Peter wipes an arm off his face. "I love her. I have to find her, and get out of here." Peter is desperately trying to make the stranger understand, make the stranger get him off, get Caitlin off.

"You're an idiot." The lawyer laughs. "Don't you care about your memories? The world?"

"I'm happy - was happy - with Caitlin in Ireland. I can't just leave her here."

"Sure you can. You're just a naive idiot. You don't love her. You just think you do, and all she's going to do is drag you down. Peter," Here he pauses and sighs. "You could be magnificent, Peter. I know what you can do, and all you care about is a girl?"

Peter knew he didn't like him, right then. He reminded him a bit a Nathan; but this lawyer just didn't give a shit about anyone else. Peter's mom had money, Peter got off. (He had seen other men, woman, _children_ try to beg and plead and hope at his feet, and he'd just laugh in their faces, this lawyer, and walked away. It was then that Peter decided to hate him.

But then Peter got free, met Adam, and everything came back. And he looked at himself in the mirror, and remembered a young lawyer that was so full of hope. (And who, in another world, became a flamboyantly drag queen.)

He remembered Mike.

And then he wonders how he ever became this ... this _asshole_. He wondered what could have happened to him, and why everything had turned out so goddamn shitty for him. (Of course, Mike would argue that it all ended up perfect - or, this Mike would, at least - but this was hell.)

Peter decided to call him Mike #1, because this was obviously what Mike had wanted out life. The young Mike Peter had known always wanted to be a lawyer, and it looked like he finally was. Stupid. What happened to you, Peter always wondered. What happened?

(Trevor, he later learned. Trevor happened. This time, in this future, with this Mike, it was Trevor who died that night in a car accident with a drunken driver.)

So, Peter got back save the world, or didn't - depending on which ending you prefer.

Peter thought that this was the worst, this Mike. Trevor had been the worst Mike. Trevor would be the worst Mike. He privately wondered who would die next.

(But Peter hadn't met Mike #33 yet. Or Mike #42. But Mike #42 is completely irrelevant to this story, and he's in the future. Not that that really means anything, anymore. Again, this is in no way breaking any fourth or fifth walls. We already covered it. Keep up!)

But Mike #1 was interesting, and once Peter had his memories back, he couldn't help resist visiting him.

He was still an ass.

(And Peter still couldn't tell his sexuality)

…

Just before he left, for good, Peter ran into two of original-Mike's friend's: Jenny and Harvey.

"Hey, do you guys know Mike Ross?"

Jenny gave some sort of a snort of Harvey just glared at him.

Peter sighed. "I'm an old friend." He tried to explain.

"Didn't know he had any of those left." Jenny sounded bitter. Peter wondered what happened (again).

"Why would you ask me about Mike?" Harvey sounded genuinely confused, and a little angry.

"I-I thought he admired you?" Peter hedged his bets.

"Admired me? Bull shit, kid. Look, not everyone likes me. I'm about winning. And I do. But even people who hate me, they all love me in comparison to Mike Ross." Harvey's voice is sharp, and he adds a little laugh at the end. It's kind of ironic, if you thing about it. And because Peter just couldn't bear seeing Mike like this, he broke.

Broke down into hysterical laughter, and pulled Jenny than Harvey into a hug. Five minutes later, he straightened up, kissed Jenny lightly, and ran off to find Adam Monroe and save the world again.

* * *

About a year later; Future #3

(Future number three involved running, a lot, and everyone having powers and trying to kill him. Again.)

* * *

(Future 3)

Mike #99.9 was the pretty bad, Peter decided, but not the worse. He suspected that if Mike was ever sober enough to talk, he'd agree with him. But Mike #99.9 was in a perpetual state of begging, high on drugs. (No one had died, Peter realized. Mike #99.9 was just a fluke - probably why he called him 99.9. Because later, in that same future, he met Mike #42. But that is honestly a whole different story, which is on a completely other line, and ... oh, what the hell.)

Peter left Mike #99.9 disturbed.

He continued on, and he met Mike #42. (Still, no one had died. Mike #42 was another universe or something, though. Mike #42 was Claire Bennet.)

No, Peter didn't understand it either. But when he tried to visit future Claire, he found future Mike instead. Well, actually, technically, after Claire pointed a gun at Peter, and he got away, he found a younger Mike Ross who was claiming to be his nephew.

(Jesus! How many illegitimate kids did Nathan have?)

Peter assumed this had something to do with Hiro - time traveler, trekkie, super hero. An accident, of course. Just a simple misstep in the space time continuum, because fucking hell Peter had to be one of the only people who could say that so casually with absolute certainty.

(Actually, it was probably Ando, because of the whole sex factor.)

Anyway, it was apparently either Barbara, Nikki/Jessica/Gina, or Tracy - identical blonde triplets who were injected with abilities - that fathered him, before he was adopted by his (currant) parents. But no one could really tell them apart, so Nathan had just pretended like he wasn't the father. As per usual.

(And that just left Peter wondering how many other love children Nathan had, and why he even married Heidi.)

Anyhoo, Nikki/Jessica/Gina - who "real" name was Nikki - had super strength, multiple personality disorder, and a penchant for brutal murders. She died. (In a burning fire, after Mohinder abandoned her to work with Peter's dad after injecting himself with corrupt powers. She was dying from the Shanti virus, but it's okay, because ... well, no, it really wasn't. But then Nathan couldn't have slept with her twin without things getting really creepy. Though, that might make for some hot kinky three-some sexy fun times.)

Nathan was currently torturing Jessica, and Barbara didn't exist, yet, but we all know that time doesn't really hold much meaning anymore.

But, anyways, point of all that unnecessary Nathan drama, Mike #42 was special.

And he had powers.

And he was still gay.

And he was still kind of an asshole. But a Harvey type asshole, instead of a Louis.

Thankfully, he wasn't a druggie.

Or a drag queen.

Or fucking Nathan.

(Thank fucking _god_, considering his new genetics. Peter would not have survived that.)

So, no. Mike wasn't Claire. He was Eve. (Yeah, I know her name is Edan. But I like Eve better, so you can just go fuck drag queen Mike in the corner while watching hairless dogs hump each other to the sound of rubber chickens being brutally murdered by Donna. Or, you could deal with it, and keep reading. Your choice.)

Where were we?

Right.

Mike was Eve. (And, no. He wasn't a woman. We already covered this. Gay, not transvestite. He wasn't a sinner. Except, yeah, he kind of was. But he didn't eat any damn apples. No, people just did whatever he told them to.)

Power of persuasion, bitch! (Jealous, much? Thought so.)

Peter spent an odd day, trying to get his head around it before heading back to the present. And deciding he had to meet the real Mike Ross.

* * *

Mike Ross, the one we all know and love, had just gotten back from a cute little cafe near his house - sorry, apartment - to find that life must have reached its weirdness limit. (If only.) But more on that later.

Let's focus on the delicious ham and cheese croissant that Mike was enjoying.

He took one bite.

And another.

Then he moaned in pleasure.

Took another bite.

God, this was fucking amazing.

It really made everything worth it.

Even finding a strange man in house for the second time today.

(He didn't faint this time.)

The strange man stood up. "Hey. Mike Ross?"

"You're not naked."

The man stared at him, nonplussed. "No. I'm not."

"Well, that's good then. Are you part of the mob?"

Peter was so damned confused right now. "No ..."

Mike continued to stare at him.

"Um, yes. I'm Peter Petrelli." Peter jabbed his hand out awkwardly towards Mike. "We've met before. But we were younger and ... never mind."

Mike is beyond confused, but he takes the proffered hand. "Hey Peter."

Peter looked out of place, unsure and fidgety for about thirteen seconds, before he opened his mouth, closed it, opened it, closed to again and then turned and spat out, "Are you gay?"

"Are you trying to flirt with me?" Mike began.

"No," Peter interrupted.

"Because you're doing a really _bad_ job .."

"I'm not gay! You are!" Peter argues.

"And I have a girlfriend ..."

"It's a long story ... really, it is ..." But Mike's not listening to Peter, until Peter slightly overcompensated, yelling: "I had to know! You were in at least two futures!"

This stops Mike. "W-what?"

"I may or may not be a empath."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Peter, in response, grabbed Mike's arm and transported him to the nearest bar. ("You're really going to want a drink.")

This time, Mike did faint.

Mike thought meeting Neal fucking Caffrey was the weirdest it got. Then he met Peter damn Petrelli. He knew there had to be a good reason why he left it at Christmas Eve phone calls.

* * *

Mike woke up.

And learned all about time traveling, the space / time continuum and his adventures of gay, drag queen Mike, asshole Mike (whom he silently called Louis, and promptly agreed to never become, an druggie Mike (he thanked all and any gods that Trevor was in Montana) and legit lawyer Mike.

He found he didn't mind being fake lawyer Mike.

(It was liberating, it the creepiest, oddest, most disturbing way possible.)

But he still had work tomorrow, Harvey would be out of jail, _and_ Louis was just Louis, 'nuff said.

... And, he never got to have sex with Jenny. Goddamn it.

Mind = blown. Day = failed.

**A/N: If you wish to see any more "alternate" Mike's, PM me, or leave a review. **

**On and unrelated note, I live on reviews. So, please review. And receive a free "I like watching hairless dogs hump to the soundtrack of Donna murdering rubber chickens brutally", "I can _totally_ pull off drag – I have soft features!", or the simple "I like sex" tee-shirt of your choice.**

**So please review. Because everyone love free stuff, right?**

**NEXT TIME = (In a couple of weeks, as I will be traveling.) I am open to suggestions. Drop a review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**For **livi16**. Hope you enjoy it! This is my longest chapter yet, I think, which is probably why it took so long to write … I apologize. Also, I'm kind of a failure at life. And deadlines. ("I love deadlines. I love the wishing sound they make as they go by." - Douglas Adams) And procrastinating.**

**I HAVE NOT SEEN ANY WHITE COLLAR YET (in Oregon, no television) OR THE LAST SUITS (again, in Oregon, no television) OR THE LATEST COMMON LAW (... my reason remains the same, window licker)**

**… That awkward moment when you realize that you haven't been disclaiming … anyhoo, I think it's pretty obvious that I DON'T own White Collar (Neal would be locked and handcuffed in my basement if I did ...) Heroes, Common Law, or Suits either.**

**Oh, yes. And I do believe I slipped in a reference to Sherlock (the BBC show), because it is amazing, which (also) fails to belong to me.**

**Off topic: Anyone know where to find Sherlock season 2?**

**A/N: Crossover: Common Law / Suits**

**Warnings: No idea how this is going to turn out, but I'm just going to run with it and see where it goes. Keep in mind, that whatever ends up happening, I will be just as surprised as you and it will in no way be in accordance with my plan for this chapter.**

**Also, Neal and other's may make a camo appearance.**

**Genres: Adventure! (sort of …) Romance! (not really!) …em. Mystery? (Well, one out of three ain't bad. Actually, it's only thirty-three percent, but it could be worse. ****Discworld, anyone?)**

**Length: 8000**

**Characters: (Common Law): Travis, Wes, Dr. Ryan, Captain Phil Sutton, Alex (maybe. If you're lucky.)**

**(Suits): Mike, Harvey, Donna, Rachel, Louis, Kyle (last three = maybes. Like I said, no idea where this fic is going.)**

**Background:**  
**(Common Law): Travis and Wes are partners who basically hate each other. Alex is Wes's ex-wife (of about a year) and Dr. Ryan is their (Wes and Travis's) therapist. Captain Phil Sutton is their commanding officer who compares them to _.**  
**Season / Timeline: One, and just after Role Playing, on a Monday. Just like an insert episode, where they have a case.**

**(Suits): Again, see the first chapter. And seriously, why read this far into a SUITS fanfiction, if you don't know anything about the show? But I can't judge, because I'll totally do that sometimes …**

**Timeline: Starts Sunday. Mike comes home from work, faints. Monday: Harvey shows up, Neal shows up, Mozzie shows up, Harvey gets arrested. Tuesday: Mike time travels, goes home, and then sleeps. This chapter takes place on Tuesday. (Same as last chapter.)**

**Plan: Continuing with my Harvey Gets Arrested arc. Guess who Harvey's arresting officers are? Right. Travis and Wes. And they think he's in a mob. And his name's DiMor.**

**This one is more Harvey, because the first half takes place while Mike is chatting with Peter.**

…...

Harvey remembers the day he got arrested like it was yesterday, temporarily forgetting that his arrest was indeed only yesterday. But jail time, as you all ought to know, never seems to work like any other kind of time, and for Harvey, with his million dollar apartment, different suit everyday, dies without Donna, the grand total of time spent in jail thus far was exactly seventeen months, six days, and five hours he had been sitting there.

(He had a system. Every time he got bored, he drew a mark on the wall. Each longish mark was an hour, while if he did a smallish one, it meant a minute had gone by. Occasionally, he would draw a little stick figure killing Mike, and that would equal a month. This little drawings covered the walls.)

It actually made quite a bit of sense as to why they continued holding him, but that didn't mean Harvey wasn't going to hold a grudge and destroy them in court one day.

Mark. (Longish.)

Harvey had been left alone. Harvey didn't like being left alone. The problem lay in that, while he hated people, he loved insulting them, and demonstrating his superiority to them. The (admittedly very few) people he liked, he would allow them to witness his greatness, just as a gift. There was no one to witness his greatness now.

Mark. (Shortish.) Mark. (Shortish.) MarkMarkMarkMark. (Shortish, Longish, Longish, Longish.) Stick figure killing Mike.

(Harvey didn't have much patience.)

And just when Harvey was debating swallowing his pride and calling Mike - providing that the jailer would come _back _- two cops walked around the corner. Arguing.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"_Travis_."

'Wes."

"No."

"I'm right."

"No." The blonder man left out a small laugh-but-not-really sound. "And it even if you were, she'd never go out with you."

"But I am right. I haven't slept with her yet."

"Okay, look when I said to point out a girl you haven't slept with at the office, I was trying to make a point about your commitment issues to Dr. Ryan. I think that it was necessary to the therapy session. And I don't like the 'yet' in that sentence."

"You just wanted to look better in front of her."

"No, remember? I'm the one who's still not over my ex-wife." Wes deadpanned.

"Let's not forget the important bit: I was right, you were wrong." And Travis just stood there grinning happily.

Harvey had tried glaring, but it appeared nothing could dissuade them from disagreeing. Violently, Harvey noted, as the other man looked like he was going to ring the shorter man's - Travis's - neck if he utter another word.

Finally they noticed him. "Sorry about him," Wes gestured vaguely at Travis, while Travis just grinned at Wes's back. "We were just -"

"Yeah, see the thing is, I don't actually care about you and whatever pathetic personal problems you're dealing with. What I do care about is what you can do for me, in terms of getting me out. And I'd like to know exactly what you're charging me with, and call my lawyer."

Travis and Wes both looked at him, a little blown back, before exchanging meaningful glances.

"What was that? No, you don't get to exchange meaningful glances. All you get to do is get me the hell out of this goddamned place. That's what you're paid to do. And that's all you're going to goddamn do, clear?" Harvey spoke in an obnoxious combination of condescending and extremely irritated that made people just want to punch him.

Travis and Wes got worried. They had been nervous when they exchanged glances, and now they were worried. This guy was a) an asshole, and b) probably not guilty.

(Mike was actually still sleeping at this time; it was only 11:30, and he had the day off. Peter hadn't gone all stalker on him yet, either.)

Together, Travis and Wes walked back around the corner the author had wrote in as a Dramatic Device and Suspense-Creating Space Object in order to continue their loud, furious, whispered argument. It went something along the lines of: "Jen is lesbian. She doesn't count." (Wes) "But there are people who haven't slept with me!" (Travis) "Not from lack of trying." (Wes) "At least I'm not still in love with my _ex_-wife!" (Travis) and "Thought we already covered that." (Wes).

Harvey heard every word. He failed to comprehend why they moved around the corner, (which demonstrated his complete lack of knowledge on Proper Comedic Devices That Authors Employ When They Are Not Actually Very Funny.) and waited for Wes and Travis to come back around (again) corner. Which they did, seconds later.

"Okay, we'll let you call your lawyer, but you have to answer some questions, first. If not, we're holding you overnight, no calls, bail starting at one million."

"... That's illegal. Trust me, I'm a lawyer." Harvey shark-grinned at them.

"Yeah, well, funny thing about my partner here," Wes glared at Travis, who was busy putting his foot in his mouth as per usual. "He _was _a lawyer. And I'm not really too big on legal."

Harvey didn't look like he'd be coming to terms with that anytime soon, so Travis, with much continued glaring from Wes, took the reigns. Again. "Then we'll charge you with terrorism. Say we got an anonymous tip."

Wes knew enough to go along with it, thank god. It was times like this, when trying to interrogate a dick lawyer who was a possible member of the mob by threatening him, that Travis was glad Wes was his partner. The rest of the time he was planning his murder with the fondness of an old lover.

Harvey figured he really wasn't getting out of here unless he played along, and there wasn't much he could actually do, until he got Mike on the phone.

(Mike, who was, at this moment, enjoying a ham Danish. Remember that? Life was simpler then.

Mike, whose phone was still in Neal Caffrey's possession, still, from that Monday that landed Harvey in this whole mess.)

In retrospect, calling Donna would have been a better plan, had Donna not been on an African cruise with that very same Caffrey. We will get there later, though.

So, Harvey had decided to play along, despite not really being one for humoring others or playing along. He was just that bored. (And desperate; and that said something. Harvey Spector was never desperate. He bowed to no man – except Travis and Wes, it seemed – and no man could best him. And yet, here he was, being bested. Funny way the universe has of beating you with a stick while you're up.)

Harvey, in order to save his wounded pride, convinced himself it was just the boredom and curiosity speaking. (And he was bored. He had already made two more dead-Mike figures, thirteen shortish marks, and two longish marks before composing three hikus on the pain of sitting in jail in a five hundred dollar suit that would not be making it out alive and half of a limerick on the subject of his hate for skinny ties and that lack of appreciation that the younger generation seemed to have for proper three piece suits.) Besides, if he could just explain the whole situation, he'd be home free and could, as an afterthought, sue the NYPD. If, you know, he felt like it. Maybe in his spare time. It could become a … pet project of his.

See? There were other reasons. Why? Because Harvey's just badass like that. And he had scared away every other single cop that had shown up and as of yet, that had produced no result. So Harvey complied, with much muttering on how utterly ridiculous this whole thing was.

And it was off to interrogation they went, skipping along merrily as Harvey did a remarkable job with his psychotic glaring. No one questioned them. In fact, some FBI agents found themselves making excuses to leave when faced with Harvey's fury. But Travis seemed oblivious, and it just made Wes feel superior. He didn't need glares. He was just anal retentive like that.

Harvey was left in interrogation for about twenty minutes, before both Wes and Travis came back in to talk to him.

About this time, Harvey was reaching the same levels of violent thinking and confusion that led him to picking up a baseball bat and wailing on anyone dumb enough to come near him. Thankfully, there were no baseball bats (within reach, or indeed at the FBI at all) and Travis and Wes had finally returned. It was a close miss. (Literally. Harvey was never one for self control.)

Wes started off the interview. "So, Mr. Jopan Dimor."

_What?_

"You want to tell us how you know Mr. Michael Ross?"

"He's my associate." Harvey was using his badass, no emotion lawyer voice. The one he used when he got them to _close the goddamn deal_s.

(He had also decided to ignore whatever name they had just called him.)

"What did you want with him? Why were you at his house?" Wes was cutting to the chase, mainly because he was actually puzzled by the whole thing.

"Mike hadn't shown up for work on Monday, and he was supposed to provide me with case reviews for a big meeting with Jessica, as well as go over some briefs. I tried to get Kyle to do them, before coming to the conclusion that it would be quicker and more efficient to just go get Mike and have him do them."

"Cut the bullshit, Mr. DiMor."

"Mike Ross is extremely useful. I couldn't have him not showing up. I don't pay him to not show up."

"Well," Wes stretched. "It doesn't look like he's about cooperate, right Trav?"

"Did you," Travis turned to his partner, sounding incredulous, "just call me Trav?"

Wes shrugged. "I thought it would seem more intimidating."

"My name is plenty intimidating!"

"Sure thing, T-Dog"

Harvey smirked. "Can I have my phone call now?"

Travis and Wes started, remembering that they had a mobster to interrogate. "Fine." Travis sighed. "You're clearly not going to cooperate. Call away."

Travis and Wes handcuffed Harvey, with much indignation on Harvey's part. But they claimed he wouldn't be allowed to make a phone call unless he was arrested.

Harvey didn't think this argument held too much water, but he was getting his phone call. He was already planning it out: He'd spend the first few minutes just yelling at Mike – oh, sweet, sweet joy – before launching into his problem and demanding that Mike get Donna to come bail him out. He'd end with a few more minutes of yelling / complaining about the place.

And cheerfully, with the image of Donna's reaction to these cops (or, more accurately, these cops reaction to _Donna_), and his will-be-definitely-successful-no-way-for-Mike-to-screw-this-up rescue from jail, he sat down and dialed Mike's number.

_Ring_.

Harvey hoped that he was interrupting something important. (It didn't occur to him that Mike wasn't even at work.)

_Ring_.

For a minute, Harvey was worried that Mike might be too scared to answer before reassuring himself that Mike did have balls. (Harvey Spector doesn't hire ball-less men. He just didn't.)

_Ring_.

Harvey assumed that Mike was making his excuses, or going somewhere private. (That he was laying unconscious on the ground, passed out – again! – was a thought that never passed through his head.)

_Ring_.

(He also never would have thought Mike to be one for time traveling, or science fiction stories. That was more him. SPOCK!)

_Ring_.

By now, Harvey was starting to get a bad feeling. (Really? Just now?)

_Ring_. "You've reached Michael Ross. I'm currently unavailable, but leave a message and I'll get right back to you." Pause. "Beeeeeep."

Damnit, Harvey was going to kill Mike. There wouldn't even be any pieces of him to bury, that's how dead he was going to be; they were going to have to fucking color code his body parts. This was the first and only thought that passed through Harvey's mind as he heard his associate's cheerfully naïve voice come over the phone.

"Mike. Goddamnit Mike. I'm still in jail. It's your fault. Fix it." _Click_.

Things could only go downhill from there. (And they did. With vigor.)

…

Donna did not have the day off. Nor did she have the day off yesterday. She had also failed to meet Neal, Mozzie, time travel, inadvertently join a mob, get arrested, or pass out repetitively. In other words, she had a normal week, as of yet. Which meant that time was ripe with need for a good old strange happening.

Wouldn't you say?

…

Donna didn't get to be Harvey Spector's secretary by not noticing when things were up; and she certainly didn't gather blackmail on just about everyone at the firm by not being able to figure them out.

Her first clue was fairly obvious: Mike was late. Harvey went to get him. Neither came back. Harvey missed the meeting with Jessica, and Kyle had to do Mike's briefs. (He still wasn't done. Donna thought it was rather pathetic. Donna thought a lot of people were pathetic; but, in all fairness, they usually were.)

Her second clue was pretty much the same as the first, and just as glaringly obvious: neither Harvey nor Mike showed up for work the next day either.

The story so far: Mike's late, Harvey (being the nice, humanitarian person that he is) goes to get him. Neither show up. Continued absence the next day. (Donna was worried. Then, she was scared. Now: curious.)

It only took a few short phone calls, a trip to Norma (which always meant, inadvertently, Louis – what fun! – and Kyle), and an extra coffee (black. She needed focus. No cream.) to get to the root of the problem.

Donna now could now pinpoint exactly when Harvey left, the car he took, and how long he stayed at Mike's. She even got the bit about the police showing up, and a short, bald repairman called Mr. Haversdam.

She got most of the important bits, except the bit about Harvey's arrest, and she missed Neal completely. She got a few mumblings about the mob, and even heard about Burke and Mike going insane. But no one had seen Neal's leap out the window, which meant that there was a gaping hole in Donna's "research".

Thus, she pulled a Sherlock, and got it _nearly_right. (There's always something.)

Donna had deduced three things correctly: Mike got into trouble Saturday night, Harvey got caught up in it, and the police really had no business being there. (They did, but that was rather complicated. It involved Travis and Wes, which should just say it all. If it doesn't, which it doesn't, than don't worry. We'll get into that whole mess later.)

She did get one thing wrong: Mike got arrested, and Harvey was trying to get him out. It was the other way around.

(Mike was having drinks with Peter (Petrelli), and Harvey was regretting ever going to check on Mike, and making a mental note he knew he wouldn't listen to about minding his own goddamn business once in awhile.)

She was unaware of two things: Neal Caffrey, and LAPD. All she got was FBI and baseball bat and mob. (She thought they got a false tip, and had no idea what was really going on. No one did, actually. It was like trying to figure out how to get to San Francisco from China while looking at a map of a small town in Russian where all the instructions and text are in hieroglyphics transposed by a French baker in 1602. So Donna's pretty bad ass for getting as far as she did. Even more so than Harvey, mainly because she wasn't in jail. And also because she was about to get on an African cruise that never actually gets anywhere near Africa. With Neal fucking Caffrey.)

...

Sunday (two days ago):

It all started, as Wes told anyone who would listen, and everyone who wouldn't, with therapy. Wes would stop people in the street to explain that it was all a by-product of role playing with his partner – _cop_ partner, Christ! Get your minds out of the gutter! – and if it hadn't been for that, then he never would have even been considered, and – _and_! – he could have used the perfectly valid excuse that he was too busy being anal retentive to be a drug dealer.

They wouldn't have had to go to New York. They wouldn't have had to assist the FBI. And Wes wouldn't have had to go undercover.

But Travis had discovered this drug ring that was relating to this law firm, and Wes was a goner.

Now he spent his days wandering the streets, luring the innocent of New York into a lovely world of cocaine, marijuana, and heroin.

Kind of.

All he had managed to do was wander the streets a bit, before coming across a young man bleeding badly from a bullet wound in his side. Assuming he was caught up in the drug dealing business, Wes merely told him to strip.

(His clothes were soaked in blood.)

Against all usually socially acceptable communications, and the number one unspoken rule for any half decent government, more was actually being done than said.

(Most likely because the young man in the fedora had a bullet hole in him, and enough sense to refrain from dramatics. Though the man looked like in any other circumstance, he would be one for the dramatics. It's ironic. Bullet holes in one's skin makes one less inclined towards the dramatic.)

"Name?"

"N-nick."

And with that, Wes took the bloody clothing out of Nick's slightly shaking hand – he left his boxers on – and gave him some of the bandages from the miniature first aid kit he always carried with him.

This is what Wes had been reduced to. Waiting for the man behind the curtain to lead him to the Harvard drug ring while helping the city by making teenagers strip. This was going to become more awkward once Wes arrested him. Maybe he should have Nick put his clothes back on.

(One look at Nick's face, scrunched up in pain, deterred him. There were no rules about the amount of clothing that a suspect was required to be wearing during an arrest. It wouldn't even be the first time this had happened.)

Operation Save Bleeding Strangers was going great, until said stranger heard angry shouts, while Wes heard Travis yelling in his ear to get the hell out of there before his cover was blown and that some angry looking men were showing up and what was he even doing? I have only been gone five minutes and you've a naked boy with you? A _bleeding_naked young man?

"Shit." Nick breathed. Wes turned to duck out of the way, but Nick clearly didn't get the memo.

(He was surprisingly limber, for someone who just got shot. Wes was just thankful the bullet closer to his hip than leg.) Within seconds, he was out of sight, and Wes was half way towards pursuing him – damn the guy was fast – when he remembered his cover, and the law firm, and everything.)

He hid. Thankfully, the angry men (who just happened to have the big guns) did not see him. Angry men and big guns are probably nine tenths of the country's murder statistic and about a hundred percent of the world's problems. It was painful for Wes to let them just stroll away.

Travis followed recklessly, though, in Wes's car that he had brought as backup and saw the man heading to an apartment building. (After Neal, not the angry men with the guns. He was a cop, not suicidal; as hard as it is, and for the sake of literature, you much try to remember that.) Instead of radioing for backup, he called to find out who lived there.

(Jane Mitchel, a botanist; Michel Fey, unemployed; Jacob Lars, comic book store employee; and Michael Ross, lawyer.)

He also learned that Michael Ross worked at one of the firms suspected of drug smuggling, and that he hadn't showed up to work. He was going to bust in there, when Wes's voice came over the speaker, reminding him just how delicate the whole thing was, and how, in order for Wes's cover to work, there couldn't be any hint of police or trouble.

Travis swore.

Wes returned the sentiment. "Wait. Travis. A fancy limo is pulling out. A man is getting out. Here, let me send you a picture."

Wes checked both pockets and his suit. He failed to find his phone, wallet, or badge.

Damn kid. Name probably wasn't even Nick.

…

Travis had been waiting for the picture that never came for about ten minutes when the man himself arrived. Nice three piece suit, looking like every other stick-up-his-ass corporate lawyer. Had the cockiness down to a tee.

When the man went into the same building, Travis radioed Wes. "Have a visual. Not sure if it's the same guy though. Where's that picture?"

"My phone is … dead."

"Lawyer. Middle aged. Cocky."

"How do you know he's a lawyer?"

"He looks like you. I'll bet he's a douche too."

Even with bad quality, under budgeted, government recycled radios, Travis could hear every aspect of Wes's sigh. From the annoyed opening, to the slightly embarrassed, drawn out ending.

He could even imagine the accompanying glare.

Travis took a picture, texted it to forensics, and they waited.

"You know," Travis broke the silence, "if you had just taken the picture, we'd already have to result."

"If you didn't sleep with everyone at the office, we'd already have to photo."

"I haven't slept with everyone at the office!"

"Name one person."

There was a long pause.

"Hey. Wes."

"I was right, wasn't I?"

"No, but we got a hit on the photo. Name's Harvey Spector. He works with Mike Ross."

Wes thought this over. "At Pearson Hardman?"

"Yeah. I think I've got an idea too."

The information sunk in: Wounded stranger was with two people from a suspected law firm, and there had definitely been mobsters following them. Travis spoke up. "So, here's what we'll do: call the FBI. That won't blow your cover, especially if they come for the wrong guy. We wait for them to make the arrests, during which we'll get command of the case."

"We don't have anything on this Harvey Spector."

"He does look like mobster Jopan DiMor. And I think he may have been with those gunmen you saw earlier."

"… True." Wes trailed, uncertainly.

"You know, I think this is the first time you're agreeing to my plan."

"Okay, one: I am not agreeing with your plan. I'm admitting that you may have probable cause. Entirely different."

The ensuing silence was a little worrying. "It's illegal, Travis." There was no reply, and Wes could still hear that god awful hip hop / rap music blasting through the radio. Poor car.

He banged his head against the wall.

"Travis? You're going to need to come get me, and then find a secure location to call backup. Because, technically, that wouldn't be breaking any rules."

"Oh yeah? How do you figure that?"

"That damn kid, Nick, stole my wallet, badge, and phone."

Now it was Travis who banged his head on the dash.

(Thankfully, they didn't have to do anything, as FBI agent Peter Burke had already received an anonymous tip on a jewelry heist that indicated one of Mike's neighbors. Then Peter had seen the broken door to Mike's apartment, suspected the worst, and came out confused.

He referred the case to NYPD.

This turned out to be one of the worst possible thing he could have done and ended leading to a few hours of confused inter-departmental squabbling before things got straightened out and back to the FBI.)

…

(Present Day)

Five hours later, Donna had given up on her cold, untouched black coffee, and went to get a decent espresso; screw skim milk.

She ran into a charming young man, Nick or something. He was kind of an idiot.

…

Neal liked Donna. She hadn't fallen immediately for his charms, but in as a matter of principle, he kept trying (failing.).

…

Donna was considering throwing her espresso at him, before deciding that she couldn't do that to a perfectly good espresso.

So, she settled for an indifferent walk back to her office. Maybe she would even take the hat.

…

Neal's phone rang. He put his hands in his pockets, checked his phone and swore.

…

Donna paused.

…

Neal put his hand back into his pocket and pulled out another phone. The ringing continued.

…

Donna was curious.

…

Neal groaned and pulled out Mike's cell. Donna recognized it. Shit happened. It mainly consisted of Donna turning slowly towards Neal, asking incredulously if that was Mike's phone.

There was an abrupt silence. Neal jumped over the stair railing, (or tried, before he remembered – half way through the jump – that he had been shot, and already done quite a lot of jumping the other day, thank you very much) and limped away. As he did, Harvey's voice drifted back over Donna.

"_Mike. Goddamnit Mike. I'm still …" _(Plot reasons, as well as common sense and distance prevented Donna from hearing the rest.).

Donna placed a few calls, finished the coffee, and hailed a taxi to the coast after Neal for what will henceforth be known as: Neal's Illegal African Cruse – Invitation Only (cruise ship, for short.).

Mike had finally gotten home and crawled, half exhausted, half-drunk into his bed. From that following standpoint, he continued sleeping, unaware of the unfolding drama. Instead he began having weird dreams.

In the first one, he was being chased by a carnivorous bunny who hated him for unknown reasons and threw carrots at him.

In the second one, a man who looked oddly like Harvey swung down on a rope swing, and picked Mike up.

The Harvey figure slowly began to resemble a Donna figure instead as the vine moved. (It looked, vaguely, like creepy, effeminate Harvey-Donna humanoid figure.)

There were two of them (Donna-that-was-Harvey-seconds-ago figures.)

They started having sex. While the original Donna-that-was-really-Harvey-seconds-ago figure maintained his/her hold on Mike.

Finally, a cop (who looked like Louis, but not really) came and dragged one Harvey-Donna figure off to jail. The other Harvey-Donna pulled out a magnifying glass and paced. (After releasing Mike.) Mike sat down.

The dream ended, but not before a bullet shaped young woman arrived and pulled Donna-Harvey into a passionate embrace before running off. Donna-Harvey looked bemoanfully at her retreating back before changing and swinging off after him.

Mike woke up screaming. He turned over, looking for his phone: he was trying to restore a façade of normality to his life, and it wasn't working. (Mike had forgotten that Neal had his phone and looked around for half an hour before he did remember.) Mike decided to do something stupid, dangerous, and definitely illegal: He decided to contact Mozzie. And his collection of old Russian cold war weapons.

...

Central Park; New York

Draw and "X". Circle it. Arrow. Bench seat. Knock three times. "The sparrow dies at midnight." Knock twice. Spin around, and sit.

Wait.

Exactly five minutes later, Mozzie was there. He was smiling. Mike was the only one who remembered his code.

Moz sat down with a coffee and a paper. He placed the paper on the bench, next to the coffee and left giggling suspiciously.

Mike walked over, just a little bit confused. Inside the paper was an address. Mike groaned, loudly, tossed the coffee and hopped on his bike. Neal lived over an hour away!)

…

Neal didn't swear very often. It was crude, and Neal didn't do crude. Or, at least, as a white collar criminal, there were certain standards that had to be upheld. Ergo, Neal was still limping, quickly running out of breath and Not Swearing. (Kate thought this was cute; even thinking of Kate made Neal feel bad about Donna. Yeah, maybe they were in love, but they weren't … there was this … Kate … they were more of an on/off couple, he supposed.)

Goddamn-darn it! Donna. Neal may or may not have told her exactly where he was going and he may or may not have (definitely didn't, if anyone was asking) invited her for a ride on his (nonexistent) boat. That he was going to steal.

Neal limped faster, ran out of breath, and started the boat. (It was relatively easy. He laid most of the groundwork down the previous day, and managed to convince the guards that the trip was being postponed a week due to weather.

He clambered on quickly, desperately, and painfully.

He started the boat. (again, as nothing really happened the first time.)

Donna chose this moment to make her reappearance.

She stepped on board gracefully, delicately, and slowly.

Neal had always loved art, puzzles, women, and thrills. Of course he let Donna on! Dumb fuck.

Every stupid decision he'd ever made could be traced back to interesting women who, more often than not, ended up pointing guns at him.

Besides, Donna was interesting, his ribs hurt, she knew the reason why his ribs hurt, his head hurt, he was decently out of breath – limping took more effort than would be made apparent by drug addicts like House – and generally, his whole body kind of hurt.

Stuff like that tended to happen when you did stupid things, and Neal did stupid things a lot.

You could say he was used to it. You could also say he was in pain. Both of those statements would be true.

Neal and Donna just looked at each other as the boat motored off into the distance, each wondering what exactly had happened.

…

It was a rather nice boat they were on. A big one, with a nice big sign that read: Pre-Programed African Safari Cruise on the top, and below that, in smaller font: Leaves Wednesday at 7. See packet below for full safety and security details.

Neal didn't see the packet below.

Donna didn't even the sign.

…

Mike, meanwhile was on his way to Neal, Mozzie and Keller's current hideout. Due the increasing fragility of Mike's reality, Travis and Wes were headed to Neal's, Mozzie's and Keller's hideout as well.

_They_ (Travis and Wes) had heard an anonymous tip (Neal had been planning to break clean with Keller after this job, until he received the golden opportunity in the form of Wes's phone. He did _not_count on Mike being there, so it didn't work out; and next time, it's on an easy job for only 50 grand and Keller shoots the third man. Neal breaks off their partnership, then, takes all fifty grand and donates it to the FBI under Donna's name.)

Mike was heading in blind to a bust. This was not going to end well for anyone, despite what Shakespeare may have to say on the subject.

…

Harvey had been murderously waiting in the jail cell for Mike when Travis and Wes ran off somewhere to go arrest someone. He wished they'd hurry up.

Harvey had tried talking to other cops, but all of them invariably ended up making excuses to leave early for the day, and half of them moved to Des Moines and bought a farm, where there was no mobs, or lawyers, or killers and all they had to do was have five or twelve kids and they were golden.

They all brought their guns, though. Some things you just couldn't leave behind.

…

Donna had never liked boats. She didn't like them in third grade when they took a class field trip to the statue of liberty and she didn't like them years later when she was forced to take an intermediate sailing class with her friend, during which, in the first class alone, she and her friend lost the anchor, broke the flappy things, and crashed into the instructors boat; _and then _failed to show up to a single lesson following that. It was the only class she ever failed.

"I don't really like boats." Donna looked at Neal, surprised, as he voiced this oft ignored sentiment of his. Seconds later, it occurred to Donna that they were moving away from shore, prior all and any common sense.

She thought she ought to point this out.

Neal looked uncomfortable. "The boat has a kind of remote controlled path; I say kind of, because I'm not sure what Moz actually did. But basically we're stuck here for almost two hours – test drive."

Donna shook her head angrily. "You invited me on a remote controlled boat ride for no fucking reason? And now I'm stuck?"

Neal grinned. "Unless you want to row back."

"You want me to help you row back?"

"No. I'm not doing any rowing. I have a bullet hole in my side, possible broken ribs, and jumped out a window twice in the last week."

Donna looked affronted. Then she laughed. "I guess it's just you and me. And I'm better looking." And then she grinned, and Neal paled, and the boat drifted further away.

…

Mike parked his bike next to a kind of removed house. The house was nothing special, really. Dull. Unassuming. Not pink. A pain in the ass to bike to.

He was locking up said bike when the typical black FBI car pulls up outside the house, and Mike jumps in the bushes. If you were having the day he was having, you would too. This morning he had gone time traveling. _Time traveling_.

Mike's life had just taken an illegal u-turn turn for the screwed up. What of it?

…

Travis and Wes didn't see Mike, his bike, or his leap.

They did see the house the was substantially Not Pink, and they saw that there were no other cars, which meant Keller wasn't there, as of yet.

They decided to go ahead with the bust.  
Or, at least, that was the plan. Until Keller came driving up the street saw the FBI car, and opened fire. Wes and Travis shot back, swore, and got right back into the car. Well, Travis did. Wes took a moment thanking God that they hadn't brought his (new!) car. Again.

A car chase commenced. It was rather dull, and included a great deal of bullets and speeding on curvy deserted roads.

It ended abruptly when Travis almost hit a cat, and Keller got away. Wes and Travis broke out into a brief argument before heading back and turning the case back over to the FBI. (Where do you think they got the car?) White Collar wasn't really their thing, and besides, they were late for therapy.

…

Mike got up and rubbed his head. No one really noticed him, so he had kind of hopped into Keller's car when Keller had gotten out to shoot the cops.

Mike really wondered what was wrong with himself sometimes.

His Grandmother would never forgive his if he died before her, and Harvey would want to kill him personally, and it really wouldn't be fair to him to get killed and deprive him of those pleasures were the two the thoughts that crossed Mike's mind as Keller hopped in and the car speed off in a hail of swearing and bullets.

…

Donna and Neal were miserable for about the first seven or eight minutes, before Neal found the wine. Donna demanded to know how Neal got Mike's phone, and Neal said then she had to tell him who Harvey was.

One bottle of wine later, they agreed to play twenty questions; as in, they could each ask each other twenty questions. They had been stuck on the boat for about half an hour. Neal explained the entire story, starting with Kate and the job from the mob. He explained how he tried to get out of it, then got shot, met a cop who helped him patch it up, and escaped to Mike's, because Mozzie knew and kept tabs on him. He was supposed to be at work, Neal went on explaining. I was just trying to bandage and dress the wound when Mike came home and fainted.

Donna just laughed, and when he told her about Harvey and the baseball bat, she said she always knew the pressure would get to him someday and she wished she'd been there to see it.

They had some more wine, and Neal let it slip that Harvey was still in jail, and let Donna listen to the message.

Donna elicited a promise from Neal to help them break Harvey out, once they were off the boat.

They shared more wine, and Donna told Neal about Harvey; her boss, and the guy she's always kind of maybe loved. She said how feelings never really went away.

Neal talked about how he didn't know how much longer he could do this on / off thing with Kate, and how much he loved her, and how much they did for each other and why he still did it, and how he doesn't think there's anything he won't do for her.

They shared things with each other (and not just six or seven wine bottles) and pretended that they're with their respective lovers on the beach, or somewhere equally romantic, and that it's night and the stars are out and they're not just hot and sticking, sharing a wine with a stranger.

Forty-five minutes later, they've landed in some place in New York that was kind of mountain-y and kind … not populated; it was also curiously close to where Mike and Keller ended up, and nearly and hour and half away from the Harvey.

…

Mike waits for Keller to get out of the car, before jumping out and asking him about Neal. Keller pulls a gun, and Mike says he's Harvey Spector and "I wouldn't fucking do that if I were you."

"Why not?"

"You have nothing to gain. Sell Neal out, I'll get the cops off your back and you and keep all the money."

"Caffrey, eh? Deal." And Keller tosses Mike his phone, which has two numbers on it and an address. "First ones Caffrey's."

Mike grins in relief and dials in Neal's number.

It rings twice before Neal picks up.

He puts Donna on, and between the two of them, they come up with a plan.

Mike hangs up, remembers that his bike is back at the house, which is gods knows where, and he appears to have been stranded.

Over at the boat launch, Donna and Neal are coming to the same conclusion:

Fuck.

…

Travis and Wes had put a bolo out for Keller, and then had gone through known contacts to discover the connection between Keller, Neal, and the mob. Inadvertently, it meant that both Harvey and Pearson Hardman were cleared.

They had found enough evidence inside Keller's house to nail at least three mobsters, and they were on the next flight back to LA.

They had forgotten about Harvey.

…

Donna and Neal were desperately trying to call a taxi at 4:30 in the afternoon in New York and were having as much success with that as one would while trying to explain evolution to a teenage Jesus Christ.

Mike wasn't even trying. He was sitting by the road, and after meaningless period of extended time, that stretched out into the empty mountain roads before drifting away in search of more intellectual pursuits among the clouds, came to the conclusion that life really was all about the elephants.

Harvey had finally considered the possibility that trying not to alienate everyone might eventually help him in the long end, and why the fuck didn't anyone notice he was wasn't at work?

…

Wes and Travis made sure that not only were they taking separate flights, they were also leaving and arriving at different airports. Of course they mixed up the tickets.

And missed both their flights.

And found out that the only other option, if they wanted to get in this week, was two seats at the back of the economy class on what had to be the hardest seats in the Western Hemisphere.

It was like the designers were trying to discourage air travel, or at least put themselves out of business.

The two spent the entire flight trying to ignore each other, and were asked to behave no less than seventeen times by the tired looking airhostess. Eventually, Travis was made to switch places with an elderly Chinese man.

Five minutes into the flight, they remembered that they forgot about Harvey, and should drop someone a line to let him know he was free.

The 'fasten seatbelt' sign came on, along with the 'turn off your electronics or we'll all die' message.

…

Mike was walking along a road. He had been walking for twenty minutes. He didn't know where he was going. He didn't know where he was. He didn't know where he wanted to go, and he didn't know how to get there.

In short, you thought you had problems?

By some lucky coincidence, He was only half a mile from where Neal and Donna were desperately trying to call a cab.

By a similar unlucky coincidence, Neal was _calling _a cab services. Why this never occurred to them before was unclear.

But it was occurring to them now, and within minutes the cab would be there and Mike would still not know where he was.

Thankfully, Mike was actually traveling in the opposite direction of where he wanted to be, so it was a cab, passing by a lone hitchhiker that arrived for Donna and Neal.

Fate has a funny way of working, doesn't it?

Yeah, so does irony.

…

Meanwhile, in Wes and Travis land (eg. the plane) there were a few technical difficulties. Neal had Wes's phone, and Travis's was dead.

Travis's solution: sleep with the hot lady five seats in front of them. Wes's solution: ask the pilot to borrow his cell, or to make a call.

The plane was barely airborn, and they were both seatbelted in; yet, somehow, Travis managed to end up a Wes and Wes managed to end up on the ground.

This wasn't even their first fight.

Seatbelt sign went off.

The airhostess overheard. She gave them her phone and free drinks, provided they didn't talk for the rest of the trip.

…

The cab had finally arrived for the impatient Donna, who, after dragging Neal in, and yelling at the poor cabbie to get them to the FBI, noticed Mike.

Mike was staring in shock.

"Mike?"

"Donna?"

"Nick?"

"Shit."

Neal looked sheepish. Mike looked angry. Donna looked confused. Then she remembered. She hit Mike, and then Neal, just for good measure.

Everyone was silent for a minute and a half. "Are you guys drunk?" Mike's question was promptly ignored.

He tried again. "Donna, that man is with the mo-"

"Mob, I've heard."

"He got -"

"Mike?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

"That's harsh."

"Same goes for you Neal."

"..."

"Thank you."

"Mike, Neal doesn't work for the mob, and he's going to help break Harvey out of jail. Neal, give Mike back his phone."

Neal did, with, it must be noted, extreme reluctance.

Donna outlined the plan she and Neal had made.

…

Harvey got escorted out of jail.

…

Ten minutes later, Donna and Neal arrived. Phase one: Donna began sobbing into Neal, until an agent approached them.

Neal explained that their son had died and they'd been called in for questioning, and would you mind if they used the bathroom?

Donna was in. She used her cat-like skills, while Mike monitored the hallways. (Moz taught him how. And besides, he was using a private camera that had been planted a few years ago by … well, someone Moz knew, for some job.)

Donna radioed Neal, picked a few locks, and followed Mike's instructions as to where Harvey was.

Harvey wasn't there.

Yeah, there's that irony.

Neal and Mike repelled down the side of the building during mid-afternoon to join Donna. They got arrested. Mike explained the situation, while Neal and Donna interrupted ("It was a stunt we were going to use in our movie!" "Yeah, we're writers!" "And I'm the hot male lead!").

They got off free.

Later, when Peter discovered that Neal had been in the FBI building and got away, he may or may not have broke a glass window. He also fired a guy. Then he went and arrested Neal. For the first time.

…

Harvey was beyond pissed. He had drawn over forty stick figures killing Mike and hundred of marks, longish and shortish and even a few that were purpleish.

…

Neal, Donna and Mike all parted ways, while Donna began explaining everything to Mike.

Mike decided that he was going to collapse onto his bed again.

…

Harvey had reached the same conclusion.

…

Donna called Harvey. He told her to fuck off. She spent the rest of the night coming up with ways to make his life a living hell.

…

Neal looked at the time (5:30) and decided that it was late enough to warrant meeting Alex at a bar somewhere.

…

Travis and Wes did not manage to remain silent on the flight.

But that wasn't unexpected, so no one really cared.

…

**A/N: Criticisms, compliments, suggestions welcome. Please, tell me what you think!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: A Castle crossover for my anonymous reviewer. Not sure if this is what you meant, but it was what came to mind.**

That said, I think this may be my shortest chapter yet.

Which is really lame, cause it took forever. Mainly because me and a bunch of strangers were too busy paying other people to kick balls at each other. (soccer camp.)

Oh, right: I really don't want Mike and Harvey to sue me, and I really want to own USA and Suits. My life isn't perfect.

Genres: Implied romance, humor, other stuff

Characters: Castle, Harvey, Mike, Groupies, mentions of Donna, Rachel, and Beckatt

Rating: T (again, just in case. There's probably going to be nothing bad in there.)

Summery:

Suits:  
Not even going to bother, fuckheads.

Castle:  
Basically, a writer playboy starts working as a shadow for a Detective, Beckatt, and her team-ish. Castle and Beckatt fall in love, eventually, but Beckatt is too obsessed with her mother's killer. This leads to her being shot. Castle tells her (right then) he loves her. Beckatt pretends not to remember, until the season finale where they get together. This is the short version. Try wikipedia. Anyway, all you need is first bit, right up until "Beckatt shot (and disappears for three months)". That's the time frame for the "present" time.

Length: 3700

Timeline: Takes place during the day after previous chapter (Wednesday). It is summer after Becketts shooting. It also has bits from three months ago. (It refers to my story; I am unsure of it's - my story's - gender. If you have any idea's, let me know.)

NOTE: Aserics (*) = modified, or complete Dr. Horrible quote. 

* * *

****

Mike Ross stopped. His eyes widened. He twitched. He froze. He stuttered. He even flopped around a bit; and this was all before hollering for Harvey. (It was a very specific kind of holler. It was loud, and important; it told Harvey in no uncertain terms that if he did not get his ass over here, pronto, he would find himself lacking an associate. Now, Harvey may have ignored that if not for two things: One, interviewing Harverd douches gave him headaches. Headaches gave him wrinkles. Wrinkles made him look like Louis. And no one wants to be like Louis.

The second reason was promptly shoved to the back of Harvey brain, where it could just go fuck itself, or any other rabid thoughts that were a) willing (this could be bent - extenuating circumstances and all) and b) hiding in the back of Harvey mind, waiting like Bella and Edward's future half crazed, half vampire sparkly babies for an opportunity to pounce. There were a lot more of these than you would think.

Anyways, said thought and unacknowledged reason number two was: I care about Mike.

It was only four letters, and did not deserve to be forced with the other thoughts Harvey kept back there. It's dark and it was scary and the other thoughts were freaky and weird and messed up and this thought didn't like it.

That was probably why it plagued Harvey so much.

Anyways, Mike was Hollering, and Harvey was hopping to, and Mike was freaking out, and Harvey was dealing with mental health issues (the thoughts) and the cause of all these new found problems was just lying innocently watching the entire display with a bemused sort of arrogance.

It was a book. It was proudly titled: Captain Hammer; Call to Glory.

The title was misleading.

It meant nothing to Mike, nor did it mean anything at all. It did provide the inspiration for a few song lyrics to the matching DVD musical, though.

(Castle had gotten bored. So he enlisted the help of the shy redhead that worked at the coffee place down the street, and a blond college friend who more than vaguely resembled Neil Patrick Harris. Together, they wrote and acted out almost fourteen songs, and three parts included, in their under budget science fiction musical. It was titled Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog, and had a note attached. Mike hadn't noticed it yet.)

In order to understand why this small book and accompanying DVD were such a big deal, you'd have to endure way to many dramatic flashbacks.

...

Yes, Castle had turned down the offer to do his unnamed British secret agent novel, in favor of Beckett, Nikki Heat, and money. But that didn't mean he hadn't written anything else. His Captain Hammer books were more of a project that he worked on whenever he had Writter's Block.

It was also a good storage unit for his best (oddest) ideas that wouldn't work anywhere else.

You can see where this is going, no?

He already had about three books written before he meet Mike, three months ago. None had been published. Harvey had all the copies.

There was a good reason for that.

*DRAMATIC FLASHBACK 1*  
(required song: Howlin' For You, by The Black Keys. Listen to it. Now.)

A not very tall, young, or adventurous man walks outside, his steps echoing with a loud confidence, and a smirk floats on his face.

A much taller man that looks to be of a similar age closes his limo door. A cocky grin is a permanent fixture on him and his steps are wide and swaying.

"Harvey Specter. Closer."

"Richard Castle. Author."

The two men smile at each other. They grin. Laugh.

Next night, they go out for drinks at a run down bar together. They don't go home alone, but they don't go with each other.

They meet on and off, often at bars, and often leaving separately.

It's a weird friendship they share, but some time over the course of twenty-three odd years, they've become best friends.

Nearly twenty years into knowing Mr. Castle, Harvey has a novel, and a note. It's two hundred pages, paperback. It's got a superhero on the cover, and the title is: Captain Hammer; Call to Glory.

*DRAMATIC SONG*  
(Secrets, by One Republic. Same deal. You must youtube.)

The note:

Harvey,

Hit Writter's Block a while back. I started thinking about you, (in a totally creepy way too) and started writing this, on and off.

She (because unlike most people, I can tell the gender of a story; it's a gift) was just me, being bored and shoving all my random ideas into this, and, here's the result. I didn't change your name (I don't actually care if you mind or not) because I'm not publishing it.

Alexis is doing great. Got a new job. Call me.

Can't wait to hear what you think!

- Castle

P.S. - Did you know that P.S. means Post Script? I didn't. I find that immediately fascinating. Anyway, there's this girl, Kate, who I'm working with. And she is hot. Like crazy hot. And I'm pretty sure I've fallen head over heals. Advice?

P.P.S. Sorry, ignore last note. Asking Harvey Specter for dating advice?

*END DRAMATIC SONG*  
(Camo for Howlin' For You chorus)

The arrogant son of a bitch looks apprehensively down at the novel, and opens the page cautiously.

*END DRAMATIC FLASHBACK*

Castle just finished the fourth one of these books yesterday, at around two in the afternoon. Mike was in it.

...

*DRAMATIC FLASHBACK 2*

Harvey and Castle have a system. They tell each other the truth. Castle doesn't joke, or pretend and Harvey doesn't lie or deflect.

This has, admittedly, cause more problems than it ever solved, but it was an interesting experiment that neither of them could bring themselves to quit.

They also agreed to never incorporate each other in their lives. That way, Castle could talk about whoever he wanted, say what he wanted, and Harvey could just not care. Vise versa, for Harvey. These people would always remain strangers to them.

Castle screwed that verbal agreement to hell when he ran into Mike Ross on the way pick Harvey up.

Mike had showed up at almost two in the morning at Harvey's penthouse, claiming he solved their case and "How could this wait until the morning? And what's wrong with phones?"

Mike had replied cheekily, "I wan't sure if you were awake."

Harvey had glared at him, and told him to fuck off.

Mike said that if Harvey made him miss his appointment with his grandma and date with Jenny and most of his beauty sleep, then he was going to damn well get his results at two in the morning.

And with a flourish, Mike revealed that he had found a witness, and yes, there definitely was a paper trail, and Donna had the smoking gun.

"Good puppy."

This is when everything went to hell, because Mike saw Castle, made some joke that wasn't all that great, and Castle ran away to hide in Harvey's bathroom.

It wasn't much, but once Castle saw Mike, he saw him everywhere.

Like, for example, at the coffee shop he always got Beckett's coffee from. Or, the dry cleaners. Or the mall. Or some bar. Or riding his bike on every single street corner, especially the ones that Castle was on.

Everywhere. He even saw Mike at some police station yesterday!

So, anyway, that kind of messed everything up, because, according to Harvey, ruining things was something Mike really did get.

Castle was a writer, and he honestly couldn't help it. Besides, Captain Hammer (alias: Harvey Spector. Lawyer by day, self centered, condescending "superhero" by night) had gotten into the Heroes Guild and he needed a nemesis.

And Harvey and Mike were so different! Harvey made the perfect douche, bad guy, only in it for the girls, money and fame hero; but Mike was his Dr. Horrible, villain, romantic, anti government nemesis.

The chemistry just kept slapping him with raw steaks.

Add in little Penny, Harvey's girlfriend, who Mike is hopelessly infatuated with yet unable to approach, some songs, music, murder, an Evil League of Evil application and a good bit of humor and you'd get Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog. A masterpiece. It was utterly, completely, exhausting and cost over twenty thousand dollars, seventeen favors, and a vocal coach, but he had done it.

And Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog had been sent away to Harvey, explaining why Mike was the main character, and that, dude, just watch it.

It was mother fucking hilarious. And totally worth it.

Mike's expression would be priceless. Well, once he finished all the Captain Hammer books.

To prepare for the inevitable, Castle had used his magical ninja skills to install a video camera in Harvey's office. (Okay, fine, he asked Donna. It's not like you could have done any better.)

...

Now Castle was watching, live, from his living room, Mike Ross performing his dead guppy impression. Castle suppressed a laugh; then, once having remembered that he was alone, released a deep, evil sounding cackle of a laugh.

A lot of guys ignore the laugh, and that's about standards. I mean, if you're going to be a creepy stalker, you have to have a memorable laugh. You think bad horse didn't work on his whinny?*

Castle was actually rather disappointed. Mike had failed to locate his masterpiece and wasn't even done with the first book. It had been twenty minutes!

Last time Castle ever took Harvey's word for anything.

...

Now, it should be known, there is absolutely no way in hell that Harvey would let Mike sit around in his office reading books staring him as a self centered, corporate tool, douche of a superhero.

It should also be known that there is absolutely no way in hell that Donna wouldn't let Mike sit around Harvey's office reading books about Harvey as a self centered, corporate tool, bastard of a superhero.

And she would totally listen in on the intercom.

Poor, poor, naive little Mikey. He really had no idea how the real world worked. In the real world, people would let you read mind scaring material that you would never ever be able to forget and would probably get you fired for some cheap entertainment. They would probably even stalk you. Even worse, they wouldn't just let you read these things, they'd manipulate you into reading these things.

You think that kid would be a little bit more self aware by now. Honestly!****

...

Harvey Spector was not the only man who could make puppy metaphors. Or dog metaphors. Logically, if you follow that train of thought - a very dangerous one, because yes, Donna really could read minds - he wasn't the only person who could close. He wasn't the only person who deserved to be partner, goddamn it!

So, Louis could be the dog with the bone, but he was a mutt, and all the bigger dogs kept taking it from him.

Well, right now, this mutt was on a mission and he wasn't letting go of that bone until he'd buried it right next to Harvey's dead body.

First, he had to find Harvey. And that was the problem. Harvey was off being mysterious (probably with Jessica's permission) and Mike wasn't at his cubicle. There was only one thing left to do.

"I'm not telling you where Mike is Louis."

"Wha - How ... how did you just do that?"

"I know a guy. And I'm Donna."

Louis stared at her for a moment. "Okay. Well, look, I really need Ross right now, so-"

"Just get Kyle to do the briefs."

"Yeah, but I also need -"

"The Kambridge case? He left it on your desk."

"He is also -"

"Needed for the yearly team bonding exercises?"

"And -"

"Jessica has paperwork?"

"Okay, one day you're going to tell me how you did that."

Donna sighed mentally. Louis should really just stop trying to be cool. "Well, I did guess for the last one, but how about we just agree that I'm omniscient and and I won't even bring up blackmail, and we'll call it square." Donna smiled.

Louis opened his mouth, looked at Donna, and then closed his mouth. He opened it again. "I'm just going to leave now." And Louis proceeded to do just that, before Donna called him back.

"Wait. Team Building. You're in charge. Mike will be there." Three facts.

And that was that. Louis left, and Donna continued listening in to the deeply disturbed conversation Mike was having with himself.

Those people that make you read mind scaring stuff also enjoying forcing you to do team bonding exercises lead by your enemy with vicious Piranha esque Harvard clones. That also hated him.

And they did all this for a little petty amusement. And they usually tapped it. And then blackmailed you with it later.

...

"Little fish that bite people". Harvey read aloud from Jessica's computer screen browser history. Donna had told him that he was needed in Jessica's office (now! And stop staring at Mike! I'm sure he'll wake up in a minute or two, and we wouldn't want him to know that you not only car, but you watch him sleep - faint - as well), and to check her computer for case details as it was top secret.

And to, above all, avoid Louis.

Harvey really wasn't one to question Donna.

Poor sucker.

...

It took Louis ten to fifteen minutes before realising that he had no idea where he was going or why.

Such was the effect of Donna's mesmerizing eyes.

...

Jessica failed to understand any of the significant glances Harvey was giving her, which clearly meant that absolutely nothing good. Harvey had obviously done something that was more on the side of morally black, and illegal all at the same time; and what was worse, he obviously thought that she wanted him to do it.

This would have to be handled with care.

Jessica debated for a moment or two, before turning to Harvey and asking him if there was something he needed.

And that began the most grueling five minutes of veiled trying-to-pretend-I-know-what-you're-talking-about while simultaneously trying to get you to admit what it is I'm supposed to know about in the history of possibly all veiled trying-to-pretend-I-know-what-you're-talking-about while simultaneously trying to get you to admit what it is I'm supposed to know about conversations ever.

It may seem harmless, but once the conversation had concluded, Jessica was filled with the mad sort of desperation to find out what Harvey thought he was suppose to be doing for her, while he, equally desperately, tried to figure out what it was he was suppose to have done and how he could do it and make it seem like he'd already done it. (Confused? Me too.)

It also meant that both Harvey and Jessica were looking for Louis, though it is clear only Jessica would succeed.

Even though Louis wanted Harvey, everyone knew he would only get Jessica.

...

Within minutes, Jessica was engaged in another conversation that led Louis to come to the conclusion that Harvey had gone off the rails and really screwed something up, and that maybe if Louis found out what it was he could get Harvey fired.

So, Jessica was annoyed, Louis was looking for Harvey with much more fervor, and Harvey was looking for Louis with less much less enthusiasm.

Mike was still reading about superhero Harvey and his nemesis, Dr. Horrible. Mike had not yet realised that Dr. Horrible was suppose to be him, but he would. Like the zombie apocalypse, or the robot uprising, it was coming.

...

If you wanted something done right, do it yourself.

That had always been Harvey's least favorite quote. Why bother doing boring stuff when you can convince (scare) other people into doing for you.

Like with Pro-bono.

Or, say, looking for Louis.

Which was why Harold was currently asking Rachel if she had seen his boss, while trying to remember why Harvey needed Louis and what he was suppose to do if he found him.

...

Louis liked doing things himself. He did not like looking for Harvey. And in a similar fashion for what always happened when one of his pre-Harvey desires met one of his post-Harvey desires, hatred for Harvey won out.

This was why Gregory was looking for Harvey.

...

This is a grade A example of how to waste an entire day at Pearson Hardman. Because Harvey had gone out to an extended lunch, with some client Donna told him Jessica told her to tell him to quote-on-quote "seduce".

Once Harvey had sorted that out in his mind, he went out to seduce the client.

Said client was really an actress hired by Donna. What Harvey didn't know wouldn't hurt him, and his ego could do with some deflating.

Besides, Donna was having way too much fun with Mike, and Harvey still owed her about a hundred explanations. She figured this would be adequate until she could come up with his punishment.

Louis was just too easy, Donna loved manipulating people, and Jessica thought she knew everything.

...

And that is an example of why Donna should never be allowed anywhere near the government.

And how stupid lawyers can be.

...

Castle had been having a normal day. A surprisingly normal day.

And then Donna texted him the live feed of Mike Ross reading his novels about Harvey from the camera she'd set up for him in Harvey's office.

...

It was better than porn.

...

If Mike had known he was being watched, he probably have done something - nothing - about it. He probably would have frowned, he definitely would have complained, and he wouldn't do anything about it.

Except maybe have very creepy nightmares involving alcoholic bunnies.

...

It was midday before Mike discovered It. Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog. And due to a mental relapse and inordinate amounts of curiosity, Mike was compelled to watch it.

He watched all the way through "My Freeze Ray". He silently rooted "Dr. Horrible" on as he failed to woo Penny. He cheered on "Brand New Day", laughed at "Everyone's a Hero" (thinking of Harvey), and cried at "Everything You Ever". He watched all the way through the whole thing, and then - only then - noticed the note.

He read it. Twice. It went something along the lines of: "I don't expect you to appreciate the chemistry between you and Mike, but it's there. And I figure you're only lucky you ended up on the same side. So why not see what happens between "Captain Hammer" (You) and his nemesis, "Dr. Horrible" (Mike) meet.

-Castle"

Mike was very proud he managed to stay up right the second time.

...

Donna, meanwhile, was having one of the best days she'd had in while. And then she checked her watch. 2:07. Associate bonding in forty.

She'd record that too.

...

Harvey was having one of the worst days - make that weeks - he'd had in a very short time. He was soaking wet, it was two, and he still didn't know what Jessica wanted from him which meant no, he couldn't just leave early, Donna, and No, I do not have control issues - or anger management problems! And: Donna! Go organize stuff! Or something!

Also, his suit was ruined. Ruined. That idiot had thrown a glass in his face (people actually fucking did that?) and fired him. What was her goddamn problem?

And since he wasn't leaving early, he better get a drink or something. Today was going to suck.

Maybe he should have just stayed in jail.

...

Castle had been interrupted by Beckett, once, with a dead body. He told her to let her know when she had anything more interesting. She had asked him since when had he been Sherlock Holmes, and he just smirked, shrugged and closed the door.

Beckett looked through the window for a few long minutes, hoping he would take off his shirt, but really only long enough to see Castle huddling over his phone and cackling madly. She decided that she really didn't need to know and left.

Mike was nearly done with his second viewing of Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog when Donna knocked on the door, told him Harvey was almost there and he owed her for this and that it was Associate Bonding Day and he also owed her for that.

Oh, yes, and would he please change his tie? I have a replacement for you right here! Good luck!

...

Unfortunately, the building that the Associate Bonding Day was suppose to be held in had exploded at around two a.m. and was currently unavailable.

The NYPD were putting their best people - Agent Kate Beckett - on the job. They hoped to have the whole mess cleared up soon; in the meantime, activities would resume in the building next door.****

...

A/N: ha HA! There will be a continuation, but with a different crossover. Idea's? Suggestions? Compliments? Complaints? Smiles? Virtual turtles?  


***Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog semi-modified quote. First and last sentences from opening scene in Act 1.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Note: All you guys that are reading and /or reviewing this are amazing! Thank you guys so much, it literally makes my day every time I get a review! **

**Disclaimer: Do not own.**

**Crossover: Suits / Supernatural**

**Suits: Awesome beyond belief.**

**Supernatural: Also awesome beyond belief.**

**But, more specifically, about two brothers – Sam and Dean - that hunt Supernatural beings ("evil sons of bitches") and demons and such. Or, at least, that's all the background you're going to need for this case.**

**Timeline: A kind of generic case for the Winchesters, and rights after previous chapter for Mike.**

**Length:**

**Warnings: Kind of Implied slash, but I don't really count it, so yeah … ah, well. Crack!fics tend to be slashy. Also, I'm not really sure what the fuck I just wrote.**

**NOTE: You may want to brush up, slightly on the general plotline of A Midsummer Night's Dream. (Read: Hermia and Lysander love each other. Demetrius thinks he loves Hermia. Helena loves Demetrius. Puck, using love potion, makes both men fall in love with Helena. Ridiculousness and epic fight scene occur. Meanwhile, Queen Titania also falls in love with a mortal that Puck gave an asses head, b/c the king wanted her to be embarrassed enough to give him a child.)**

**And now: On with the show! Enjoy!**

* * *

It was a Thursday. Anyone who has ever read Douglas Adams will know that they are never good sign, and impossible to get the hang of.

And considering the week Mike had, he wasn't really sure what else could happen. And even if things happened, he reasoned, at least they would surprise him or anything.

God, Mike should just give up and lick windows.

Of course, Mike would be surprised. Of course it would be weird. But damn, did it have to hurt so much?

* * *

It started with Louis, and the resulting collateral damage that involved a terrifying combination of mooning, Jesus Christ, half a werewolf, and The Ravioli Factory – which, contrary to all common sense and universal laws, produced blunt nails.

It ended with Harvey, as such things often did. More specifically, it ended with Harvey and Louis on what could be constructed as dates. Staring horrified at said dates.

In the next twenty-four hours, Mike would find that whatever he did, the universe was still a bitch.

* * *

Fun fact: People can only remember seven things in their head at the same time; and if they think of an eighth, they will managed to blessedly forgot one of the previous seven unwanted thoughts.

So Mike thought about Neal, and Mozzie and the FBI. Then he recalled Harvey being arrested, fainting, and Peter. He recalled Dr. Horrible. Finally, he remembered the associate bonding disaster. Nothing happened. After all that (painful, scarring) remembering, he remembered Yesterday. A day so horrible Mike wouldn't even try to come up with a creative name.

And then all those horrible, horrible events sat in his oversized brain and they stayed there.

After a few seconds pause, Mike remembered he had an eidetic memory. Subsequently, all eight thoughts immediately popped out of his head. This was not due to any sort of memory problems, or anything so mundane; nope, this was the result of a wrench being forced into contact with the back of Mike's head, where he collapsed onto his floor, the sole purpose of this being for Mike to have some truly odd dreams that were later forgotten. They may or may not have included slow dancing aliens. Upon waking, Mike was assaulted by the sensations of someone giggling hysterically at him.

* * *

Now that Mike was awake, albeit barely, he began to take stalk of where he was. Answer: his kitchen floor.

He suspected there was some very good reason for that, and indeed, that reason would present itself in due time. Meanwhile, he ought to take advantage of this crazy random happenstance and make himself some toast.

His thoughts, semi-intrusively, had other, well, other thoughts about this. In fact, Mike noted somewhat groggily, he seemed to have a rather large amount of thoughts screaming at him this morning. Now, one would generally want to pay attention to something like that, but Mike had had a long week, and if there was anything weird going on, he didn't want to know that he knew about it before at least having some toast. And maybe some pizza. With pineapples. Mmm.

* * *

There is, reflected an interrogation table, nothing fundamentally wrong with being an interrogation table. It did, however, the interrogation table mussed, mean that you had to put up with a rather lot of physical abuse.

This was something any sane-minded fellow would have difficulty getting over, but not the interrogation table. The interrogation table was well used to this sort of treatment: flipping, hot coffee, cold water, fist pounding, kicking, and general disregarding.

It had even heard of a table down in London that had been set on fire six times! And, in England as well, an interrogation table (with camera's in the room) that people kept fucking on. And another one, that had actually been part of an international kidnapping, and even been chained up.

God, foreign i.t's (interrogation table's) had all the fun.

And that is why there wasn't anything fundamentally wrong with being an interrogation table, but the general consensus was that: it (and i.t.) would never be worth it (or i.t.).

The possibly-middle-aged-if-there-was-really-any-way-to-tell-but-could-easily-be-young-or-old-depending-on-the-circumstance i.t. was about to find the general consensus was dead accurate, and would attempt to kill itself (i. ) nine times during it's (i.t.'s) final twenty-four hours.

By the end of which it (i.t) would be quite completely and irreversibly dead, and reincarnated as a vintage high end stripper dress that would rot slowly for the next century in an abandoned warehouse in North Carolina.

Lesson: Do not question the universe. It does not approve.

* * *

When Mike first learned that he there would be two more people moving into his apartment, it was on his way to check for his pizza. And considering he had been doing such a good job avoiding his weird thoughts, he made a choice not a ruin a good thing.

Instead, he thought about his new neighbors. His first reaction was one of paralyzing fear. Once he had gotten over himself, enough to move around a bit, he became indifferent.

(That is to say, he pretended that if he pretended to pretend that his paralyzing fear was really indifference, then his any problems he had would just cease to exist so long as he ignored them. And he would actually get to eat said pizza, which he was really hoping would be here soon.)

His new neighbors (probably) wouldn't have anything do with him, he (probably) wouldn't have anything to do with them – they (probably) wouldn't even see each other!

His third, delayed reaction was (because he was a good person and raised by his grandmother) was to bake them house-but-actually-unsually-large-for-New-York-but-small-anywhere-else-apartment warming cookies.

His reaction to that was that god, he was a complete girl and fuck no. (Besides, last time he'd tried, not that he had or anything but still, he'd ended up igniting Ms. Delia's dog on fire, and causing a (empty) police car across town to go BOOM! (Fine, that had been a suicidal lamp post, but that didn't mean Mike couldn't take credit for it.)

And it's funny to think that if Mike's fifth reaction hadn't been to argue, things could have gotten so much weirder.

But, his fifth reaction had argued that he had to do something. Otherwise, it had reasoned, he'd be the rude shut in neighbor, which is a hell of a lot worse than be the transvestite neighbor.

Truthfully, if we are being honest here, and starting sentences with opening adjectives, Mike would have continued argued with himself over the matter all morning, had he not gotten hit by a car.

He only had one reaction to that, and it involved Harvey and being late to work. Again.

* * *

Mike was late to work. Mike Ross was late. Harvey shuddered, remembering how this entire week had began – Mike Ross missing work.

Now, it was a Thursday and Mike Ross was late. Ergo: bad. Harvey was too scared to think beyond that point. So, it just ended with with: bad. BadBadBad. And Harvey had already lost one suit to this "bad". This "bad" that was Mike Ross being late for work.

Harvey had never had a panic attack before.

It's a good thing he didn't have one now.

* * *

Mike Ross had been hit by Dean's car – not Dean, his car – and not left a single dent, which was awesome. On the other hand, Mike was unconscious.

Sam would have felt guilty had he been anywhere near the "scene of the crime". Dean would have been pissed, had he any idea what was going on. As it was, the Winchesters were completely clueless, and had only arrived at Mike's apartment because they were bored, and when you're bored and Sammy is your brother, you go to fucking New York. Stuff happens in New York, okay?

So, Mike was epically bleeding out onto the concrete, all dramatic like, while Harvey was fretting all stupid like, and Dean and Sam were watching The Lion King on Broadway, because Sam really a fucking girl sometimes.

* * *

Now that all the important bases are covered, let's turn our attention to the plot stealing Jessica. Who had, naturally, assumed that Harvey had gone behind her back and promoted the new mailroom guy.

He knew she liked Mailroom guy, Mailroom guy had potential, Harvey was once Mailroom guy – it was clear. Harvey was trying to follow in her footsteps. But Harvey would make a terrible mentor, and while Jessica appreciated the sentiment, no. Just not going to fly. Thankfully, she'd figured it out and could now move into position to counter mentor.

First step: get Louis in.

Second step: get Mailroom guy up into her office.

Five minutes of hard, backbreaking effort, Jessica had managed to remember where Louis' office was. He wasn't there.

"Norma?"

Norma stared at her mutely, eyes really wide. "Norma, tell Louis I need to see him in my office. Now, please."

This had absolutely no effect, unless you count Norma's eyes getting wider as an effect. But Jessica, however, wasn't about to be beat by a second-rate gossiping secretary that belonged to Louis Litt, goddamn it! Her name was on the door, not deer-head Norma Jennson. Pearson.

* * *

Louis was, at this time, being asked out to a very fancy date with a very – ahem – beautiful woman. Hilarious coincidence, but same-same with Harvey. Except he was the one doing the asking. Of course. Dumbfuck. He's Harvey Spector.

* * *

Mailroom guy had a name. It was a very nice name. Some, people of the religious variety might even acknowledge it was angelic. It's a pity no one ever used it.

* * *

Mike, as it turned out, was not actually bleeding. He was unconscious for about half an hour, before he opened his eyes to see a ('67 Chevrolet Impala, supplied his brain) staring down into his soul. This, Mike suppose, was as good a time as any to (finally listen to what his brain had been trying to tell him all morning.

This led to a confusing five minutes during which Mike remembered getting knocked out the first time while simultaneously remembering getting hit by a car (and being knocked out the second time). He failed to recall why any of this was happening, and was fucking terrified of what it meant.

And Mike at last reached the final conclusion that would be made by his sane mind: to give up, and just go crazy.

However, it was not in his nature to give up. He struggled to his feet, looking incredibly drunk, declaring his resistance while heroic music played loudly; but he didn't even have to get hit by a car the second time to realize that it was too late, and he had already lost his mind.

And then it really was too late, and Mike was back under, being glared at by a car.

* * *

Dean was contemplating just how utterly fucked his life really was, while watching small fuzzy people dressed as large furry animals parade around serenading each other. Which he didn't appreciate, just so you know.

In fact, Dean didn't appreciate it to the point of actually hating it. It was certifiable torture. And there was two and a half fucking hours of this? Two and a half fucking hours?

Sam, of course, was totally enjoying it like the girl that he was, muttering asshole shit under his breath like: "nailing the alto – though, clearly, the dancing is flat" and "well that wasn't a triple-top-five-pronged-pillowet". And like a girl, he totally started tearing up at "Can You Feel the Love Tonight". He was even doing his frowny-face.

Dean had been fucking done since the second song. Let it be known that Dean Winchester is not culturally advanced; on the flip side, no sticks stuck up his ass. Let's just say that Dean could tell pretentious from actually cool.

Which is why it was particularly strange when he decided to get up out of his seat and belt his heart out – in the form of a Les Miserables ballad he didn't even know he knew. Which, really, should have been their first clue.

And the worst part was that Dean's spontaneous moment, and the significance of it, was never found let alone lost, because at least half the theater was doing exactly that.

* * *

There is, before we go on, a problem, or rather a solution that must be resolved; and that is the problem, or solution, or fucking guinea pig of the meat of the unnecessarily extended sandwich metaphor, which is really what is wrong with the world. You can trace it back to sandwich metaphors, if you recall the mind bogglingly dull earth that was English classes where teachers taught you how to make sandwiches. That vibe of mind bogglingly dullness will spread, infecting the world, much like the Zombie Apocalypse we all now know to coming this December. And then the world will end. And it will all be the fault of boring English teachers and fucking sandwich metaphors.

That is not all.

There is, first, the matter of the meat of the bread whose lettuce we must discus and analyze.

Such as a previously unknown to earth that will be known because I'm telling you and you will know theory of the Margins of Accountability. There are five major degrees of minor Accountability, and sixteen minor degrees of major Accountability for each major degree of minor Accountability. Further, there are forty –two subdivisions for each minor degree. And to explain beyond that would force your brain into Protective Suicide.

(As a sidenote: Protective Suicide, or, as it is more commonly known as: (TV&OOT) Three Vases & Only One Turtle – the name, admittedly, coming after the acronym, is another theory not of you earth people. I will tell it to you. It begins with the reason Earth has never been invaded by aliens. One: Aliens read minds. Two: aliens, after reading any given humans mind, have been stuck will urges to drown themselves in the human product "bleach" jump off their spaceship. Human minds are widely regarded as the most disturbing place one can be sent to, and is often used as a form of torture in the more culturally advanced regions.

At least, it was, until a brilliant young Angel of the Lord came up with TV&OOT. Which allowed such thoughts to lurk in the deep dark reassess of Harvey Spector's mind, untouched for at least a few decades.)

And now, the Margins of Accountability, more or less continued: the first (and last, with no discernible differences between the two) major Margin is "Here Small Child, Here". The middle two shake between the infinitely more popular: "Birdy Want A Penut? Sucks For Bird." and "Polly Want A Cracker? Polly Dead."

These margins are omniscient, everywhere and anywhere. They are each individual gods in their own right, and should be worshiped as such. Their more proper names, and a worshiping center near you can be provided on request, along with a few basic rituals and sacrificial masses.*

The sole meaning of these Margins derives from four-point-five basic questions. It is said that if you know the extra point-fifth question you are a liar.

First question: Who do you think you are?

Second question: Who are you?

Third question: What do you deserve?

Fourth question: How hard do you deserve it?

And the point-fifth: Why? Or, more accurately, WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY YYYYYY?!

There is said to be more, but throughout recorded history, that is all that remains.

Furthermore, Margins are an ancient art, and based upon using the ones soul, one can see into the souls of others. It is a very deep and honored art that had large groupings of followers that never got that far into "deep soul staring" without participating in a subliminal mind fuck. And then an actual fuck.

Most of their followers, it should be noted, are from Earth.

* * *

None of that was actually relevant to our story, but it is an interesting perspective to have, and will explain quite a few things.

* * *

Neal was watching the news. He thought he saw something about Mike and a Broadway. He turned it off and hid under his bed.

* * *

Harvey was, as reveled above, tangled up into the whole Margins of Accountability situation. He was what you call a Non-Practicing MosA (Margins of Sexual Accountability) in that he was baptized, but had forgotten and also never attended a ritualistic sacrifice in his life. He hadn't joined any nudist colonies either, but that was just optional.

Until the Sunday before the Monday that Mike was first late for work and Neal was naked. Sigh. Remember that? Good times.

He hadn't thought it was a ritualistic sacrifice; he was just trying to do what Harvey Spector did best and woo his client.

Instead, he screwed everyone to hell and back. So, yes. Harvey is a badass. And yes, it really is all his fault. And yes, he is a little bit proud of this.

* * *

Apparently, just like shouting "fire", singing at the top of your voice in a crowded theater is also illegal. And dangerous to your health.

* * *

When Mike awoke the second time, he was nervous. He slowly, apprehension lining all his features, lifted his head to find the Impala gone.

Mike blinked. He rubbed his eyes. He sat up; he looked right, he looked left. Mike made a bitchface and walked away.

Damn if he didn't need an alcoholic beverage. Beer was the only thing left untouched by the weirdness of the last week, so Mike may have figured he'd be safe there.

Instead, it ends up being the funny story about that time Mike ended up getting arrested at a wine tasting with Donna.

Donna, who, currently, was trying to arrange Harvey schedule for maximum client woo-ing time, and that was not going so well. It really sucked being Harvey's secretary, times like these. Incidentally, the phase "times like these" became the motto of the Catholic Church in 2050 when they started launching full out terrorist bombings on contraceptives such as condom factory's, and birth control storing centers. They said it was "times like these" that need to remain "times like these". A few assorted men and women claimed that Jesus came to them in a (highly sexualized) dream.

These people were counted among the criminally insane, but, for some odd reason, were widely believed.

Idiots follow psychotic sheep, apparently.

By 2070, populations were steadily dropping, though that was due, more so, in fact, to the miss-dropping of contraceptive bombs than anything else.

* * *

Donna need a drink.

* * *

Mike called a cab. His bike was god-knows where under god knows what doing god-know what with god-knows who. God also knows that Mike needs a drink.

Donna chose not call a cab. She drove to work, and she would drive to a goddamn bar.

But then her car didn't start, and screw it, Donna needed a drink. She called a cab.

Mike told the cabbie very explicitly that he wanted to get incredibly drunk, go to a party and do obscene things to himself.

He asked the cabbie if he knew a place like that. The cabbie, nibbling on a midnight moose truffle from Godiva, nodded once, slowly. And grinned.

Donna just leaned back and gave the name of a bar half a mile away.

Somehow, they both ended up a wine tasting event for couples on sixth street.

Neither are quite sure how this happened.

* * *

Dean, meanwhile, in a galaxy far, far away, wanted a beer. And fuck it, he totally would be having one if he wasn't in lockup!

Moreover, before that, Dean needed to be at any place that was Not-Jail. Secondly, a bar would be the preferred location of Not-Jail. Honestly, and truthfully, and desperately. Cross my heart and hope to die. 'Cause, you know, Dean doesn't already have a been there, done that, background music to my soul kind of relationship with shit like that or anything.

Sigh. Life, eh?

Fuck. Beer. Jail. Sam. Lion King. Mother fucker, Dean was embarrassed.

* * *

We shall now turn our attentions to things in Not-Jail doing a great number of obscenely interesting Not-Jail things to each other, the general fabric of the universe, and any passerby's sanity.

* * *

Mike got out of the cab blearily, not even bothering to question where he was or why at this point.

Donna got out of the car swearing and snapping and generally using her ninja-like skills to threaten explicit violence subtlety.

Casually, Mike's cabbie lifted his wallet. Donna's cabbie assured her that it was no trouble, don't worry about the bill, and I'm just going to go now, yeah?

Mike looked around and saw red. Donna stalked around and saw black.

Let it never be said that Mike and Donna are similar people.

* * *

Life, it must be said, takes a lot of shit. A lot of shit. From a lot of people. Life is in a near constant state of shit-taking. It must be hard, working to recycle all that shit back out.

But that's life. A mutual exchange of shit; but occasionally, there was sex, or there was love, or there were people, and that made it all okay.

* * *

Mike saw red and felt want.

Donna saw black and felt pain.

Occums Razor: simplest solution is usually that someone screwed up.

* * *

It wasn't often that Donna walked in to people. In fact, one could argue that she mastered the art of staring down a moving car; the art of being in the way, without actually walking in the way or sustaining any damage to her body.

But tonight, Donna walked into Mike. Once this simple thing had transpired, events spiraled into that of an a-typical romance novel that guys always read, and then say is their girlfriends/sisters/mothers/gay brothers/insert pronoun here's. Or, more accurately, a modern interpretation of A Midsummer Night's Dream. Except, it was actually more of: A Midwinter Evenings Tomfoolery.

Donna walked into to Mike, and he saw red, and felt want. And she saw the colors of the night, and she fell.

Fell in love with Mike.

(Or Lysander into love with Helena)

And then unconscious, once her head hit the cement. (Mike was too busy staring at her to actually catch her or anything.)

* * *

Thankfully, Donna sustained no injuries from her failed encounter with the street. This is a known fact that must be established early on.

Because Donna was staring at Mike like she "just saw him" and Mike looked at Donna, almost as if he was going to do something stupidly romantic.

"I love you." And there it goes. However, Donna did not respond in the proper Donna manner; instead, she sat down on the street, took off her shoes, and watched Mike, her eyes wide.

"I've always loved you. I mean, I thought I loved Rachel, but it was you all along. They look fat compared to you. They are meaningless compared to you. You are the other half of my soul and you complete my mind and my body sexually."

But Mike wasn't done: "I would give up meat for you." He is almost in tears. And yet, he is still not done.

Dean, however, is done. Dean is getting out of jail and getting to a bar, and trying, trying to forget about singing Les Mis and going to the Lion King and Sam and fuck, this is why he needs strong alcoholic beverages right now.

* * *

Sam is on a date with a very ugly young man. His brother is … well, Sam doesn't care about his brother, or what his brother thinks, because right now, he's in love.

(Or the beautiful fairy queen that awoke to see the head of an ass)

* * *

"Oh, Mike, let's just steal all Harvey's money, and run away. The two of us, all by ourselves, for extended periods of time!"

* * *

Louis is on a date with a fucking tall assed woman. Normally, that kind of thing would feel weird to him; now, it just feels nice. Almost like love. Apparently, this young woman was studying to become a law student at Stanford before she had to leave.

Louis could – did – empathies. He even offered her a job.

Samantha – Sam – declined.

* * *

"Donna, you look gorgeous."

"I want to destroy your innocence."

* * *

Harvey wasn't actually on a date. Yet. He was, he knew, suppose to be wooing a client. It was times however, like tonight, that he wondered why he did it all; and it was moments like these he remembered: Donna. Their love could know no bounds, and the hopeless Demetrius followed after his remembered love.)

* * *

Rachael, for she found herself deserted and ignored by her future lover (maybe) Mike, who had failed to show up for work basically all week. And damn, that was never a good sign.

Swamped with longing, and the desperate half-formed dreams of broken promises, lust, and strangely, ancient Greek tribal chants, Rachael fled into the night; and Hermia following after her forbidden love.

* * *

Donna flings herself passionately into Mike's arms, and Mike, feeling his sudden love returned, slams their lips together.

Dean walks by, and sees two psychos going at it like some sort of animal in heat, and mutters about how this really is Sam's fault. Really.

The fairy king never appreciates the work of his favorite little servant.

* * *

Donna and Mike make-out for the remainder of the evening. .

It is long into the night – and the full moon is covered by cloud that have mysteriously appeared (cue largely obvious audience wink)

This is about the time Harvey shows up.

It is Mike's turn to see black.

* * *

"You betrayed me!"

"We were something great!"

"I love her!"

"I love her more!"

"She is mine!"

"She loves me!"

Screaming profanities at each other, Mike and Harvey face off angrily. Mike's cheeks are ballooned and red, while Harvey merely glares intensely, eyes narrowed with hate.

Donna turns to the both, tears in her eyes, and Helena pleads with her two apparent lovers to stop making fun of her.

Mike tells her she is beautiful, and Harvey says that there is no possible way to lie to an angel like her.

And since there are no conveniently placed swords, but there are a few metal rods sitting around and maybe even a rock here and there.

Mike opts for the rods. Harvey, thinking of baseball and liking the range, grabs a hunk of cement the size of Mike's knee cap.

The dark fog desends, but not before Rachael, filled with Hermia's desperate desire for her Lysander, chances upon the scene.

Friends, at each other's throats, over love. Donna has always been insecure her red hair does not believe, and is humiliated. But all Hermia feels, and all Rachael can see is rage over an apparently lost love.

Within seconds, Rachael is pulling at said magnificent crimson mane of Donna and that is it. Harvey hurls his rock, Mike charges, a cat fight erupts, and lust mixes with love, saturates the air with longing.

* * *

Louis, on another plot line, is too busy being the ass, the player, the fool in love with the fairy queen; Sam doesn't even remember his gender. He's lame like that.

Yep, Dean will def be winning this one, but no one is going to like the fallout.

* * *

A dark and still – almost supernatural (large audience wink) fog – descends upon the players in the drama.

Mike finds himself being led away, following after who he thinks in Harvey, while Harvey wonders after Mike in the opposite direction.

A large whack comes from nowhere, and Mike spins dizzily, swinging the pipe and only thinking of Donna. With on more hit, he is down and out and through.

Harvey wonders around calling threats at Mike, screaming. But exhaustion starts coming in waves, washing over him, and he falls into an uneasy sleep.

Donna and Rachael are both his and growling and fighting. There's hair pulling and nail scratching and some downright dirty shits going down. Until they both go down, overcome by exhaustion.

* * *

Dean finishes his beer. He leaves the bar, and finds two young men and two young women on the ground, lying asleep in a circle. Dean swears. He decides that he's buzzed enough to ignore it, and even if he wasn't, it's still all Sammy's fault.

* * *

Sam, meanwhile, is looking loving into Louis' eyes as Louis looks loving back, when he comes back into his mind.

And Sam looked down. He looked down at his beautiful dress, his fake boobs , the pretty light green heels.

Sam facepalms into his dinner, and then starts making plans to kill Dean.

Louis looks at same with such a horrified look on his fugly assed face when Sam tells him that he's not a girl.

Sam is sure that Louis expression is mirrored only in his own face. A Dean-shaped man comes around the corner, and Sam flings his body under a table. Fuck. Sam starts nervously playing with his hair, twisting it around his fingers, vaguely wondering where he got the wig and totally understanding why girls do this all the goddamned time.

When he came up for air, Louis was gone, and Dean was grinning at him, pleasantly buzzed. "Let's go, Samantha."

Fuck.

* * *

And so ends the story of the queen, and the king, and the mortal child they both wanted.

But there is still a tale to be told, and like all tales, it starts and ends with a simple question: What the fuck just happened?

* * *

Mike woke up with an incredible, throbbing headache. This was in part because of the amount of times he had been hit in the head, and in part because of the godawful noise someone was making. He groaned and rolled over onto Harvey. Hopefully, Harvey would be dead to the world. Since everything had already gotten screwed past hell, Harvey was awake. And screaming.

Mike winced.

Donna was staring at Mike. With newly opened eyes. But now, they were newly opened eyes of abject fear and humor. Looking around, Mike met her eyes. He winced again. Like a coward, he couldn't even look at Rachael.

Rachael couldn't even look at herself, and Harvey was far too busy blaming Mike simply because that meant he didn't have to deal with any of it to look at anyone.

"Can we just agree that we all just had a strange, midnight dream? And that none of this really happened?"

Mutual agreement. And in the morning, it was so. No one could quite recall exactly what had happened, or who they were that night. The next weekend, they all went to see the Lion King.

Something seamed familiar about the monkey, but no one could really place it.

* * *

Dean and Sam, on the other side of this little tale here, were acutely aware of what the fuck just happened.

It started and ended in a jail cell, the night Dean went to see the Lion King with his sister Samantha. And got arrested for serenading the crowd, Monday night. Before Dean moved into Mike's apartment building.

* * *

The beginning: We already know. Dean and Sam have no case.

The end, as well, we already know.

It is the middle that is murky.

* * *

During the middle, quite a bit happens, most of it revolving around the fact that supernatural beings make prank wars slightly more epic.

And yeah, Gabriel was kind of rooting for Sam, but you can't that Dean's plan was just – genius, man. Comedic genius.

There was, in fact, a reason why the Winchesters were always on a case. The reason has recently become exemplified. Mike, Harvey, and Donna would all testify to this in court.

The reason was as such: simple boredom. Scary things happened when Sam and Dean got bored. Scarier things happened when Gabriel helped them get bored.

* * *

Sam had started the whole thing, quite honestly. And because Gabriel was a fucking archangel, and an honorary trickster, he just had to be there. Laughing.

Remember back when Dean was being dragged to the Lion King, and then started singing Les Mis? That was all Sam. Well, first Dean lost this bet about this soccer player who was dressed up like a cat for a Halloween tournament based off a case they were working on about another soccer player turned witch and fuck people were competitive.

But one dead witch later, Sam and Dean were having a long and involved argument that seemed to revolve around long, thermal undies; and next thing you know, Dean was boasting about his ability to pull off any look better than Sam, and if he didn't he would … he would … he would do whatever the fuck Sam wanted him to do.

It is also worth mentioning that they were both slightly drunk. And maybe trapped in a fucking RAVIOLI FACTORY THAT MADE RUSTED NAILS! For fourteen hours. At least they had a cellar filled with alcohol. WINNING!

Gabriel, being an annoying little archangel just had to walk by and screw around with reality.

* * *

Sam won. Dean sang on Broadway. Castiel accidently exploded an interrogation table. Gabriel got arrested. Dean got arrested. Sam got drunk. Castiel went AWOL. Presumably to find a different interrogation table to abuse.

* * *

Once you have Dean in jail, your top priority should be getting him out. However, if you have Gabriel in your jail, your top priority should be getting as far away as physically possible, lest your mind be raped in horribly scaring ways relatively.

This is exactly what happened. But with a lot more furious dry humping and the removal of random furniture legs. Also, random explosions. And Jesus i.t.'s (interrogation tables). A Jesus i.t. refers to a table that is sexed up by a fat, vaguely Eurasian midget cop while Gabriel exorcises it and then brings it back to life. Where upon returning to life (again), it is sexed up by said fat, vaguely Eurasian midget cop.

This process has been used to its full effect exactly seventy-eight times.

People tend to have an excess of sexual encounters around Gabriel. He says it's part of his natural charm. Dean says he just needs to get fucked. Sam doesn't care either way and just wants to fuck him.

* * *

Interestingly enough, it is still fairly unclear how, exactly Gabriel managed to get arrested. It is widely believed that he joined a nudist colony with Cas, but that is still up for debate by the herds of totally sane and reliable fangirls of the world. I'll keep you posted.

* * *

The rest is, not history, but future.

Except you know it. Gasp! It's almost like your God or something! Or … I'm God. (Hint: it's the second option). I believe you should all start worshiping me. By giving me money. Though I do accept chocolate, unicorns, and Neal Caffrey as acceptable substitutes.

* * *

A quick insight into Harvey's thought process before we move on:

"How?" Harvey's brain sputtered hopelessly. "…" went his eye's dazedly, glancing around. His nostrail flared "fuck", is sync with his eyebrows, which were preforming an elaborate tap dance. His posture – saying "lawyer" was off-set by his suit saying "burnt". Louder than all that was his mouth, and it was too loud to hear himself, or anyone else.

Harvey's many tryst had given him the two things that were absolutely necessary for this phenomenon to occur: excellent lung capacity and volume.

(And I know you want all the details, you sick little puppies.)

* * *

"WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY YYYYYYYYYY?!"

* * *

That would be all.

* * *

***This is a perfectly legitimist offer, free for a limited time only.**

**I feel that you all should know that I don't know what the fuck this is. I re-read it, and I'm all, What the fuck is this?**

**Idea's? Review and let me know! *wink***


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N : Last chapter. MADE THE DEADLINE! SO PROUD OF MYSELF! YOU GUYS DON'T EVEN UNDERSTANDING!**

**AND THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE REVIEWS, THEY MADE MY LIFE. :D. YOU ARE ALL SO FUCKING AMAZING! **

* * *

****Mike woke up on the street. He had disturbed memories about the previous week - previous night, specifically. He decided that everyone would be better off if he just ignored these concerns.

And thus, Friday began.

...

Friday began with nothing that important happening and ended with things of equal unimportant happening. For instance: Mike called a cab home. Then cab driver was not a serial killer and disguise. The cab driver wasn't under any sort of mysterious spell. The cab driver actually took him to his apartment.

And again: Mike rode his bike to work. He was not molested by a naked dog. He was not hit by a car. He did not die and come back to life. He didn't kill anyone. He didn't learn advanced forms of karate.

Further: Mike goes to work. Louis is a douche. He does seam weird about something. He doesn't mention Sam. Kyle was still ugly.

...

The evidence stacks up: Harvey too, called a cab that utterly failed to explode, turn into a turtle, get engaged to a lamp pole, or break out in song. And once home, there were no strange men, no mobsters, no angels, no demons, no psychos.

He just went to bed and tried not to think.

And when Harvey went to work, Ray still drove his limo. Nothing weird happened. Mike was still on time, with his stupid bike and Ray was still playing old jazz.

At work, Louis was still stupid, Donna was evasive, and Harvey was still better than everyone else there. (Same-same.)

...

Louis was awkward, Kyle was annoying, no clients appeared, no problems tried to shoot them ... in short, it was a dull day.

Mike was not dead. Mike was in a lot of pain, but Mike was not dead. Mike wasn't mugged. He didn't have a fish inserted into his ear and the world didn't end.

Harvey wasn't arrested, and Donna wasn't bonding with con-artists.

...

Mike found himself rather disappointed.

...

**A/N: Yes, it's short. But this was always what I had in mind for the ending so deal with it. Actually, complain about it in a review!**

**Love you all!**


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